


As Luck would have It

by theskyeskye



Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Angst, Bottom Shadow, Bottom Sweeney, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Forced Eye Contact, Love, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Nudity, Schmoop, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-01 17:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 24,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10926897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskyeskye/pseuds/theskyeskye
Summary: A series of prompt fills from over at my blogs http://theskee.tumblr.com & http://theskeewrites.tumblr.com all for Mad Sweeney and Shadow Moon. If you've got a prompt you'd like filled, I'm still accepting! Anything from fluff and hurt/comfort, to angst, smut, and straight up kink. I'll take it! I've connected all these prompt fills, into one cohesive story, but it jumps around in their storyline/relationship. I do not currently have an editor/beta, so if there are minor mistakes I apologize. Mostly creating just to get content out there! Some of this stuff may contain book related spoilers.





	1. a stroll with luck

Shadow isn’t sure he likes how closely Sweeney walks behind him. It’s not as though he’s unfamiliar with the tactic the other man is employing. Pure, subtle intimidation. He’d experienced it in prison, and this world he found himself in now, is not too different from prison. They are men thrust together, forced to make nice, or suffer unpleasant consequences. Sweeney’s twitchy, he’s bearing down on Shadow, eyes boring holes into the back of his head. When he’s not staring Shadow down, he’s looking over his shoulder, waiting for bad luck to catch up with him.

“You still sore about your coin?” Shadow asks, calm and conversational, but it’s cutting none the less. Shadow shouldn’t poke the bear, but Shadow is still sore about a lot of things. Sweeny snorts, indignant, incredulous, but he’s calmer now that some time has passed. 

“Y’damn right, I’m sore. What kind of cunt throws away a gold coin? To their cheatin’, late wife?” 

Shadow bristles. He’d already hit Sweeney enough times for prodding a sharp stick in that particular soft spot. This time around, he just sighs with defeat. Images of Laura flicker across his vision, like burn in on a television, after images that haunt the screen of his world. 

“You really believe it’s lucky?” Shadow dodges, changes the subject, they’re walking, eyes roving over the many attractions, finding their feet carrying them into the Japanese gardens. Their steps have fallen in time, Sweeney’s at his side rather than towering over him from behind. The sweet smell of jasmine flowers in the early evening are heady, and relaxing. Even someone as turgidly angry as a leprechaun who’s lost his luck can’t help but take a deep breath. 

But not too deep. Don’t want to inhale a bee or something…

“How can you look around at everythin’ that’s happened to you, and not believe?” Sweeney offers in rebuttal. He has a point. Shadow casts a sideways glance at Sweeney, who meets his eyes, brief, and the pained look on Shadow’s face, the pure frustrated desperation, is too raw to look at for more than a moment. Sweeney looks away. Pointedly. He stares at a tiny red headed girl trying to hold a disinterested little boy’s hand.

“I saw Laura.” Shadow states, “I… I touched her. I kissed her and her mouth was…”

Sweeney sees where this is going. He already knows. He knew when he dug Laura’s grave up. She’s walking. Lucky her, back from the grave.

“Cold.” Sweeney finishes the statement and reaches out, patting Shadow’s shoulder awkwardly, and a little too hard. It’s a piss poor attempt at comfort. He’s still angry, but he’s not heartless. He’d experienced enough loss over the years to know in some respect, what Shadow was going through. There wasn’t one among them, walking toward the carousel who had not experienced loss. 

“Everything is upside down. Maybe I should have kept your stupid coin,” Shadow mutters to himself. Sweeney opens his mouth to loudly confirm that ‘yes, ya shite, you should have’ but… He looks at Shadow’s tired face, the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the slouch in his shoulders. 

Parts of Sweeney long since buried bubbled to the surface. He’d protected people once, he’d seen their luck turn fortuitous, he’d sipped cream from dishes and blessed crops, he’d enjoyed freshly baked bread from sills, and given struggling women children. Or at least…. a version of him had been that once. America had a way of polluting him and his kind. 

He reaches down and takes Shadow by the wrist and gives it a tug. 

“Come on. There’s a spot… they’ve got coffee and shite. You can buy me a glass of cream,” Sweeney says firmly. Shadow struggles with the grasp on his wrist, trying to pull away. 

“What? The hell you talkin’ about?” Shadow protests. Sweeny stops pulling, but tightens his grip. 

“Just… Trust me, a’right? These things… have rules. Without my coin… Gotta try the old ways, you know? To turn your luck around. And mine.”

“The hell does cream have to do with luck?” Shadow didn’t quite believe in lucky, he still had his doubts, he had seen and felt so many conflicting things in the past few days he wasn’t sure he wasn’t already dead, himself. 

“You want to just stand there wasting time or find out? Is it really the strangest request anyone’s made of you lately?” Sweeny even manages a tense smirk, pulling up one corner of his lips. 

“I…” he had Shadow, there. It wasn’t a point he could argue. He took a breath and steadied himself, pulling his wrist free, only to slip his fingers between the other’s. “I guess it can’t hurt.”

Sweeney drags him along to a tiny stand where a single, mousy woman is making coffee drinks with a frother. 

“Just cream?” she squeaks, and Shadow nods, sliding money across the counter. She wrinkles her nose and sets a mug on the counter, splashing heavy cream into it. Shadow gestures to the mug and gives Sweeney a nonplussed sort of facial shrug. 

“Your cream.” 

He unceremoniously pushes the mug in Sweeney’s direction who is tempted to reach into his jean jacket and dump some cheap whiskey from his flask into it, but he doesn’t. He takes the offering and downs it in three gulps. The resulting gagging noise he makes is nothing short of hilarious to Shadow. It’s the first real laugh Shadow’s had since before all this began. He well and truly feels the humor, like the warmth of a good cognac spreading through his chest. 

Sweeney wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve and gags again.

“Oh right. That’s right funny, that is. I’m fairly certain that cream was spoiled,” he grumbles into his sleeve, his fingers twitching with the desire to smack the smile off Shadow’s face, but… It’s genuine and it’s bright, and infectious. Sweeny leans in close and returns the smile. 

He breathes spoiled cream against Shadows cheek, intentionally exposing him to the sour smell, causing a second bout of laughter and Shadow leaning away, trying to escape. For a moment, everything between them settles into laughter. It’s a relief, a reprieve from everything else. 

“That uh… that was a great idea. You know? I feel… A hell of a lot better,” Shadow says, and it’s of course, at Sweeny’s expense, but Sweeney doesn’t mind.

“Yeah? We’ll see how good you’re feeling when I French you nice and sloppy so you can get a taste of your garbage offering,” Sweeney warns. Shadow scoffs and pushes Sweeney’s face away as the leprechaun leans in again. He feels the nudge of lips and nose against his cheek and he feels warm. 

The rest of the walk to the carousel is warm, like sunshine. Sweeney even stands a little straighter, with a renewed swagger to his step.


	2. hearth and home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some book related spoilers ahead

Sweeney’s knock is heavy handed. He’s a little bit drunk, and the biting cold of Lakeside has begun to sink into his bones. To be lonely is a terrible thing, it’s far worse than simply being alone. He feels a pull, a tug in his chest that calls him to Lakeside. He knows he shouldn’t step foot into this town, but something draws him in. He knew as he strode over the bridge through the snow, eyes catching the faintest glimpses of a rusty old car on the ice, that Shadow was here.

He waits on the porch, fumbling with trembling fingers to light a cigarette. He looks across the way to another door. He sees a woman’s face, peering at him through her gauzy curtains, distorted by plastic on the other side.

Shadow’s door opens and the man stands there, looking tired but content. He’s dressed to walk around in this frigid air, but as he takes in the sight of Mad Sweeney on his doorstep, shivering, red nosed, and chapped, he just steps aside and jerks his head toward the interior.

Sweeney steps over the threshold and exhales a sigh of relief. Warmth. Real warmth, sinks into his bones. He’s quick to shrug out of layers, cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. Shadow helps him get free of coats and boots, and then provides a small cup for Sweeney to ash in.

“What’s he want you to do now?” Shadow asks, gruff as he goes to his fridge and pulls out a couple bottles of beer. He twists off the tops and tosses them aside on the counter as Sweeney makes himself comfortable at Shadow’s little kitchen table.

“What?” Sweeney asks, spitting the word as if Shadow’s inquiry is nothing short of preposterous.

“Wednesday. He sent you, right?” Shadow takes a pull from his beer as he sets one down beside Sweeney’s makeshift ashtray.

Sweeney scoffs, cracks a crooked grin, and shakes his head.

“I do believe, the All Father is well and truly done with me. No use for an unlucky leprechaun. Just came on my own,” Sweeney explains, tapping ash and taking a drink.

“You came to visit me? Because… you wanted to?” Shadow speaks with a modicum of suspicion. It’s warranted, of course, but Sweeney scowls a bit, just the same.

“You called me here, didn’t you?” Sweeney’s eyes are sharp as they scan Shadow’s face. Shadow thinks about snow, and wonders if maybe it was like that. Maybe the universe heard his heartache after Laura had come and gone from Lakeside, but rather than bringing his wife…

“If I did, it wasn’t on purpose,” Shadow says, taking a seat and making himself a bit more comfortable. He looks Sweeney over, taking stock of the gaunt nature of his face. He looked as if he hadn’t properly slept or eaten in weeks. It was unfortunate to see him this way, so different, so much less alive than he’d been months ago.

“Well, I’ve not much better to do until your wife gives my coin back,” Sweeney says lowly. His previous mentions of Laura had always been meant to goad Shadow into some kind of reaction, but instead, this one was gentle. Loneliness had a way of softening even the roughest of men. Sweeney was no exception. No money, no women, no attention, no friends, just people who used him, and then left him in the dust.

“You look like hell,” Shadow says. “You hungry?”

Sweeney looks at Shadow as if he’s offered him the moon. That was still safely tucked away in Shadow’s pocket. Instead, Shadow uses what little culinary skill he has to try, as he has many times, to make Laura’s chili. He knows the recipe forward and backward, but it’s never quite as good as hers.

As he moves around the kitchen, Sweeney drinks his beer and smokes cigarettes, offering help. Shadow laughs and shakes his head. He can’t think of a single thing for Sweeney to do other than stand by and keep him company.

“He’s got you tucked away from the world, eh? This place… Doesn’t feel real, does it?” Sweeney offers, cracking open another beer for Shadow. He presses it into his hand and their fingers touch. Shadow feels warmth returning to Sweeney’s weathered limbs in that brief contact. It’s strangely fulfilling to know he’s helped that happen.

“It’s a nice little town, but… yeah. Surreal. A… A little girl went missing, actually. Real recent. We called off all the official searches but,” Shadow sighs, takes a gulp of beer, and presses his back against the counter, leaning with a soulful exhaustion against it. “I walk a lot. Sometimes I look for her.”

Sweeney frowns, steps a bit closer, and rests a hand on Shadow’s shoulder.

“You’re a good man, aren’t you Shadow? How the hell does a man like you end up workin’ for a man like Wednesday?”

“Couldn’t I ask you the same thing?”

“No,” Sweeney says, his tone very definitive and self deprecating, “you really couldn’t.”

Shadow serves them chili and corn bread made from a box mix, and Sweeney eats like it’s the best meal he’s had in his life. Color is coming back to his cheeks, and he smiles across the table.

“This is exceptional. Never took you for a cook,” Sweeney says, washing down a mouthful of chili with a swig of beer. Shadow smiles sadly, and shrugs.

“I’m not really a cook. That was… Laura. She taught me a lot of stuff, but she was always better at it than I am.”

After dinner, Sweeney does dishes. He rolls up his sleeves and forces Shadow to sit idly by while he does it all. It’s the least he can do, he insists. And a stroke of poor luck sees him cutting his thumb on a stray knife.

Shadow cleans it up, he shrugs it off, smiles at Sweeney like it’s not a sign of the malignant darkness that had begun creeping over Sweeney months ago.

He offers him his shower, and to clean his clothes. Sweeney is too large for much of Shadow’s things, but he digs out an undershirt and a worn pair of flannel pajama pants that just barely make do. They fit too close, too tight, but Sweeney is grateful.

“Listen, it… gets real cold and I’ve only got the one space heater. Other one’s given up. So… You can crash in my room with me, alright?” Shadow says. Sweeney shrugs and lights another cigarette, listening to the subtle sounds of his clothes tumbling in the distant drier.

Shadow sets to business making up a bed on the floor.

“You can take the bed. It’s a little soft for me anyway. Too much time in prison, maybe,” Shadow is making an excuse to be kind. He wonders as he looks at Sweeney lurking in his doorway, features lit by the glowing cherry of a cigarette, when the last time Sweeney got to sleep in an actual bed was.

“It’s a big bed, mate,” Sweeney points out, and he helps gather the spare blankets from the floor and make up the bed for two people. “No harm in that.”

Shadow doesn’t know why he can’t say no. He just… can’t. He slips into bed, near the wall, and Sweeney’s broad body blocks him in. He considers wedging a pillow between them, curling closer to the peeling pain of his walls, but he doesn’t. Shadow rolls over on his side, and takes Sweeney by the hand, pulling him close. Flush together, sharing space, under piles of blankets.

Shadow feels the warmth of Sweeney’s breath across his neck, he feels his lips through the cotton of his shirt against his shoulder. It’s not a kiss, just a connection. Shadow’s skin prickles pleasantly with the feeling of real human connection. He hasn’t felt it in so long he wants to weep. Sweeney’s arm tightens around his waist in an embrace.

“Goodnight, Shadow,” Sweeney rumbles.

Shadow swallows a knot in his throat and smiles softly.

“Goodnight, Mad Sweeney.”


	3. so you think you can dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mildly nsfw

Sweeney sways on his feet slightly, affronted and indignant. The hotel bar is almost empty and Wednesday nipped out for a bit of “fresh air and another bottle”. Shadow suspected he needed a break from Mad Sweeney’s loud mouth. Shadow had grown comfortable, almost used to the other man’s presence. He wouldn’t say he liked him, or was overly fond, but as he watched Sweeney fiddle with the small stereo on the corner desk to find music he considered acceptable, while swearing under his breath, tiny bottles scattered everywhere…

Well, the image was almost endearing. Shadow could see himself learning to like Sweeney. Maybe just a little.

“Has anyone ever told you, you are a terrible dancer?” Shadow points out with a low laugh as he drains a tiny bottle of Jim Beam. He’s reclined on the bed, trying to relax to some degree, though with the gruff sound of static garbled rock music and Sweeney grumbling, he was finding rest difficult and elusive.

“What? Bullshit. I’m a– an… amazing dancer,” Sweeney is drunk and affronted, he fixes Shadow with what was probably supposed to be a menacing glare, but there’s still the hint of a smirk playing at his lips. He’s in too good a mood to really back peddle into fury. Shadow isn’t sure he prefers this to fury.

“Yeah? Says who?” Shadow challenges him, sitting up a little straighter as Sweeney stands, at ease, swaying slightly to the beat that’s buried somewhere under the crackle of bad signal.

“Girls,” Sweeney’s head dips in a single emphatic nod, “Lots of ‘em. Girls…Women. Women love my moves.”

Shadow snickers into his hand as he drags it over his face. He shouldn’t pull this thread, but he’s had a few drinks (at the pressure of his current company) and is in a good mood.

“Women like your dancing?”

“Yeh… I’m a very… sexy… desirable gentleman,” Sweeney speaks with his best, confident, matter-of-fact tone he can muster. Shadow laughs again, and Sweeney takes a few strides closer to where Shadow is reclined on the bed.

“That so?” Shadow grabs one of the remaining bottles from the night stand and drains it. He hisses at the burn of it and abandons the plastic in a trash bin near by.

“Yes. It’s very so.”

“Alright, Sweeney,” Shadow meets Sweeney’s glassy eyes, sees how drunk he is, knows this is probably a bad idea, but he’s had worse in recent weeks over games of checkers… “Prove it.”

“Prove it?” Sweeney sputters, incredulous, offended that anyone would demand proof of his skills.

“Yeah. Dance for me. Prove that you’re sexy and desirable, and I’ll buy you a bottle of Jameson. If you can’t, you gotta teach me that coin trick. For real this time,” Shadow isn’t sure when he became such a gambling man, and it hadn’t worked out well for him so far, he was 1 for 3, but he was just drunk enough to do it again.

Sweeney contemplates the proposal, a thoughtful look crossing his features. He points at Shadow and then turns up the stereo just a bit.

“A’right, yeh cunt. You’re on.”

What followed, Shadow would later describe as the messiest, dorkiest strip tease he’d ever not exactly asked for.

Sweeney had some rhythm but he had a difficult time finding it. It was as if the music was all wrong for him, or what music they could hear was. Sweeney moved with the bass lines, following the tunes that came through as he shrugged out of his jean jacket, hips rocking as he slowly pulled at the buttons of his shirt.

Shadow wasn’t surprised when Sweeney accidentally pulled one right off. He struggled to disentangle himself and take the shirt off without removing his suspenders, which resulted in a great deal of, even more unsurprisingly, swear words.

What did surprise him, was when Sweeney had freed himself of his shirt, he crawled onto the bed. The knees of his long legs wound up planted on either side of Shadow’s thighs as Sweeney peeled his undershirt off in a only minutely less tangled attempt to not remove his suspenders. Sweeney arched his back and flexed, still clumsily moving along with the changing pace of the ambiguously metal song groaning through the tired stereo speakers.

He rocked his hips, as if making love to the air (poorly, clumsily, drunkenly) in front of him. Shadow’s eyes dropped to Sweeney’s crotch, giving himself a full eyeful of the soft outline of Sweeney’s cock through his broken in jeans. Shadow then he realized where he was looking and dragged his gaze back up, a hot flush creeping over his cheeks. If Sweeney noticed, he didn’t let on.

Sweeney’s face was calm, he wasn’t pulling some weird, half insane attempt at a sexy face. It was just his face, calmly enjoying the sound of music and moving. His suspenders were flush against his skin, an interesting, and in another life, another situation, maybe even sexy image to Shadow.

Sweeney’s hands roved over his own torso, up into his hair as he gyrated over Shadow’s thighs. Every movement was poorly timed, poorly executed, but done with a strange kind of indulgent passion that brought back that feeling of endearment that Shadow was becoming more and more familiar with.

Shadow’s eyes eventually lost track of Sweeney’s movements, though he couldn’t keep the laughter from his lips, and he found himself focusing instead on his face, then down the curvature of Sweeney’s shoulders, the swell of his pecs, and the dip of his pelvis. Under all the frumpy, unflattering jean clothing, was a well put together man…

One who was terribly drunk and a horrible dancer.

Shadow placed his hands on Sweeney’s bare chest, laughter still huffing past his lips as he tried to stop him.

“Hey– Hey, I get it, you’re about two inches from my dick, man, I appreciate the commitment but– I get it you can stop, you’re uh… You’re a g…great dancer,” Shadow can barely speak between bouts of soft chuckling. Sweeney snorts proudly, as if that outcome was obvious from the start. His hands come up to grasp Shadow’s forearms and he holds on, keeping Shadow’s hands against his chest as the radio fizzles out for a moment, and then suddenly, kicks back in, crystal clear.

Something slow, smooth, earthy starts playing. Shadow doesn’t recognize it, but it sounds modern, and appropriate for a real strip tease.

“No,” Sweeney says lowly, voice dropping an octave, “I’m a shit dancer. You got me, boy-o.”

Shadow was suddenly aware of his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. Sweeney is laughing now, something with a low and private quality. He has better rhythm now, but he’s still clumsy. He’s trying, actually, truly trying, and Shadow can’t for the life of him understand why.

“But, I think I deserve an A for effort,” Sweeney’s hands drop to his fly, the zipper seems impossibly loud, and Shadow is trapped beneath this massive man, who is whiskey drunk and removing more and more clothing with every passing minute. His breath hitches slightly and he laughs, this time nervously. Sweeney settles against his lap, and Shadow isn’t sure how this escalated so rapidly. As Sweeney descended on Shadow with drunken lips, one thought crossed the ex-con’s mind…

He really needed to stop gambling.


	4. hold back the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just some good ol hurt comfort

Shadow stares down the small sunken hole on top of her grave, and he wants to stop Sweeney, but he’s along for the ride now. He won’t pick up a shovel. In the past twenty-four hours he’d watched Sweeney come close to death and just narrowly escape, generally at the expense of some other poor, nearby soul.

Much as it pained him to see his wife’s grave dug up, defiled, all for the sake of some goddamn lucky coin bullshit– He couldn’t take the guilt of causing anymore people harm. Staying away wasn’t an option when people had already died. Sweeney was here to save himself, but that was, in Shadow’s opinion, circumstantial.

The sound of shovel hitting casket sends a jolt of discomfort through Shadow’s body. He doesn’t want to look, but he also doesn’t want Sweeney pawing around at her corpse. It was wrong. Shadow had thrown the coin away, it was he who should take it back from her.

“You wanna do the honors?” Sweeney has his dirt caked hands propped on the top of the shovel handle, and is fixing Shadow with an unreadable sort of stare. Shadow can’t tell if Sweeney is still annoyed or perhaps just exhausted. Shadow huffs, turning away for a moment before reaching a hand down to Sweeney. The six foot deep hole only comes to Sweeney’s shoulders. He likely didn’t need help getting out, but Shadow helps drag him up out of it, only to jump down in his stead.

Shadow’s brows draw together, confusion furrowing deep lines into his face as he examines a darkened hole in the surface of her previously pristine casket. His fingers trace the gap and he hesitates. He can’t see into the casket, and he doesn’t want to, but he lifts the lid anyway.

Sweeney has his back to the casket, out of something kind of like respect. When he hears the scratch of boots on rock and dirt, he glances back to see Shadow pulling himself out of the grave. He’s struggling so Sweeney stoops, grabs Shadow by his bicep and takes one of his hands. He lifts Shadow like he’s weightless, and catches a glimpse past him to the grave below.

Empty.

The grave was empty.

Sweeney feels a pang of fear and rage twist in his chest, but when he opens his mouth to swear, he stops just short at the sight of Shadow. Shadow crumples to the ground, sitting, there, elbows propped on his knees, head in his hands. He’s shell shocked, and in pain. A pain so palbpable, Sweeney can practically taste it. It’s like the damp, electric quality the air has before it storms.

“Did… Did someone else know? Did someone dig her up and steal her? What… what the fuck,” Shadow mutters, more to himself than to Sweeney. Sweeney doesn’t have an answer, he just picks up the shovel and begins filling the grave back in. Shadow’s dark cloud around his heart and mind begins gathering in the sky above.

Sweeney packs the last shovelful of earth back where it belongs and faces Shadow. Sympathy is not his strongest suit, but there was a version of him, in another place, another time, that cared for people, that took offerings to ease the pain of loss and turn one’s fortune around.

Shadow didn’t need luck. He needed comfort. He needed a friend. Sweeney extends a hand down to Shadow and when he pulls Shadow to his feet, it’s to pull him into a crushing embrace. His massive arms close around Shadow and squeeze him tight. Shadow’s arms hang limp at first, and then… Then he gives in. He wraps his arms around Sweeney in return, he buries his face in Sweeney’s broad chest, smelling sweat and earth and Polo Sport cologne. It’s bizarre but it takes the edge off, somehow, just to feel another person.

This was different from the last time he’d stood in this cemetery, but in some ways, it was exactly the same.

“There’s… there’s this thing with ex-cons, you know? You go in for so long you forget what it’s like,” Shadow echoes words spoken to him, his voice hoarse, cracking slightly, “just to feel somebody.”

Shadow isn’t concerned with making Sweeney uncomfortable with such a raw statement. Shadow had forgotten, he kept forgetting, what it was like to feel someone. He’d been hugged and kissed since coming back, but these feelings stopped at his skin, left him more numb than before.

Sweeney’s fingers spread, open palmed between Shadow’s shoulders, and he rubs a sturdy back and forth.

“What did you want to do? When you got out? First thing?” Sweeney asks, gently drawing away. Maybe, just maybe, the universe could settle for long enough to give a good man like Shadow a reprieve. Maybe Sweeney could help give it to him. Maybe that’d turn both their luck around, even if only for a couple hours.

Shadow laughs bitterly, wipes at his eyes and sighs. He looks Sweeney up and down. They’re both covered in dirt, looking the part of the felony they’d committed, their hulking forms menacing in the dark. Shadow recalls what he wanted to do.

“I wanted to come home and have a bubble bath. I wanted Laura to come with me, and I didn’t want to leave the house for a week. Order in pizza when we got hungry. Just… feel normal again. For a little while.”

Sweeney nods, offers a sympathetic half smile.

“Sounds like heaven on earth,” he offers, propping the shovel over his shoulder as he extends a hand to Shadow. “Come on then, let’s blow this shit show before it rains.”

“Yeah,” Shadow replies, defeated, and without protest, or overthinking the gesture, he laces his dirt covered fingers with Sweeney’s own. He lets his mind wander, lost among the muck and the mire of memory while Sweeney leads him along. He trusts without trying, and they find themselves at Motel America. Sweeney gets them a room and Shadow forks over the cash for it, movement on autopilot right until he’s stepped over the threshold of an all too familiar hotel room.

Part of him wonders if this is the same exact one, or it’s been just long enough that minor details have blended together, making difference between rooms indiscernible.

“I wouldn’t recommend a bubble bath, what with all this dirt. I for one, was thinking of a shower,” Sweeney announces as he dumps the shovel unceremoniously on the floor. Shadow doesn’t quite hear him, his ears a ringing, he can hear the coin flipping from his fingers and hitting the dirt.

He wants to crumple, to feel some kind of soul crushing emotion, he wants to weep again, but all he feels is a creeping numbness. Everything was surreal and this… this was agony perfectly balanced with apathy.

“What?” Shadow lifts his head, eyes meeting Sweeney’s. Sweeney grimaces and takes a few strides toward Shadow, hands reaching out to grasp him by his shoulders.

“Shower. We need showers. And you… need to forget a few things,” Sweeney explains, his tone edging on losing its patience, but there’s a bit of genuine concern still there, floating on the surface.

“Forget? I need to forget everything,” Shadow says, tempted to pull out of Sweeney’s grasp, but instead, he leans into it. He needed to forget everything–

“Except for what it’s like to simply feel someone. I think you could do with a bit of creature comfort, Shadow. Take it from me, I’m an expert on comfort and indulgence,” Sweeney leads again, taking Shadow by the front of his shirt, guiding him to the tiny bathroom, that is made tinier by their presence. Two large men trying to make room to undress as it fills with steam. All elbows and bumping shoulders.

Shadow had spent the better part of the last four years sharing a shower with strangers. Low Key had always advised him to remember, that it’s a safer bet to just enjoy yourself, than try and focus on keeping yourself hidden. Shyness was weakness.

‘And my friend, you ain’t got nothin’ to be shy about.’

Shadow looked over the length of Sweeney as they stepped into the too-small bathtub beneath the spray, head to foot, and considered that neither of them had much to be shy about.

It wasn’t charged. There was no tension, no desire… It was bizarre, to feel callous hands rubbing soap from a tiny bottle over his dirt caked fingers and up his arms. It was caring. Shadow was barely able to make himself move, that numbness was immobilizing. Empty. The grave had been empty, and now Shadow… Shadow felt empty too.

“Don’t think about it,” Sweeney advises, “Thinkin’ won’t change a thing.”

Shadow nods, he agrees, he wants to stop thinking, but he can’t. He can’t shut that moment off, it’s on repeat, interspersed with images of Laura’s mouth around another man, the crunch of metal, the late night texts, ‘I love you, puppy’, empty, empty, empty…

Shadow reaches up, fingers sliding into damp red hair, and he holds fast, bringing Sweeney down so they’re connected, brows pressed together, as if somehow the physical connection can make the load shareable. Sweeney grasps Shadow by the side of his neck, pressing in to meet that pressure. Their eyes are closed, but Shadow doesn’t pretend Sweeney is anyone other than who he is. His grip is unmistakable.

Shadow focuses on that instead. The slope of Sweeney’s brow and the strength of his grasp. He can smell whiskey on Sweeney’s breath as it wafts over his face, hear his heartbeat and the pound of water against their skin.

“What do you think about, Sweeney?” Shadow asks, not letting go, but slipping closer. They’re chest to chest, Sweeney’s other hand wraps around Shadow’s back, broad hand splaying against the small of Shadow’s back. Sweeney tucks in by Shadow’s ear to speak.

“Big breasted women, and piles of money,” he says with a low laugh. Shadow’s lips break into a smile and he chuckles against Sweeney’s shoulder.

“Yeah? That it, then?” Shadow challenges quietly. Sweeney’s silent for a long moment and then a bit of honesty rises up in his throat like a cry for help. It’s said so softly, Shadow feels as though he’s misjudged Sweeney from the very beginning.

“I think about home. It’s a home I’ve never seen. Immigrants brought me here with them, and I saw industry, I saw death, I saw myself forgotten. I think about… rolling green hills, towering structures of stone, of saucers of sweet cream, and the smell of wheat in the sunlight… Imagine that. Homesick for a place I’ve never really lived,” Sweeney hums thoughtfully, hand slipping slightly lower on Shadow’s back, straying into intimate territory.

Shadow runs his fingers through Sweeney’s hair, strokes his fingers across his neck, and tries to soothe him. They had that in common. Homesick for some place you never really had… It was an impossible void to fill. Shadow had thought he’d finally filled it when he met Laura, but now… Now he looked back and it was all tainted with dark, sticky betrayal.

“We could go,” Shadow suggests quietly, “Leave right now. Fuck Wednesday… fuck luck, and ghosts, and all of this.”

“Wander the moors like a couple of brooding Bronte heroes?” Sweeney laughs softly as he speaks and leans his head back to look Shadow in the eye. Shadow leans up and closes the gap between them, Sweeney turns his head slightly to meet him, their mouths meeting crookedly in a brief and experimental press.

The water was going cold, but Shadow wasn’t ready to leave this magical space where anything was suddenly possible.

“Why not?” Shadow asks, and Sweeney nods.

“Alright. First thing tomorrow, then. I need my beauty rest first,” Sweeney says. As they step out of the shower, Shadow still carries the ghost of an empty coffin and a betrayal like a stone around his neck, but he stands a bit straighter with Sweeney’s hand against his back. They tuck into bed, a tangle of limbs.

Wednesday comes early in the morning to collect them, and makes no mention of their compromising position. All hasty plans to run are forgotten. But as they head for Wisconsin, Sweeney and Shadow stand a bit closer, and when no one is looking, are linked at their pinkies, a single thread of solidarity, to remind them just what it’s like to feel somebody.


	5. specters in small spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> canonical major character death, minor book spoilers

There’s a pang of pain in Shadow’s chest as he feels something cold and ethereal touch him, directly in the center of his sternum. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt, like a shard of ice prodding him. Sweeney looks at him with quizzical eyes, lips pulled into a fine thin line.

“You should have asked me for something else,” Shadow says quietly, and it earns him a soft snicker. Anything else would have been a temporary bandage on an unsalvageable wound. Weak and worthless. Sweeney needed something Shadow couldn’t give him, and even now, he needed it. He needed something corporeal. He needed to feel breath in his lungs again.

“You couldn’t choose me over her,” Sweeney grouses; even in the afterlife he’s got a gruff quality to him. He’s not a wisp, and Shadow’s not sure he can even truly see him. It all feels like an impression, instead of an actual vision. Sight without seeing, sound without hearing, feeling without touch. Sweeney is here, but not here.

“You didn’t give me the chance to,” Shadow counters with a sigh, and he draws away. His Lakeside apartment feels empty and full at the same time. He can see his breath clouding the air as he tries to keep the cold out. What he wouldn’t have given for warm arms around his chilly skin.

“I may be a right selfish bastard, but I’m not heartless, Shadow,” Sweeney drifts, his voice sounds like it’s calling to Shadow from the other end of a long hallway. Shadow doesn’t like this distance, real or not. It’s hard to gauge what this is. Hauntings, he’d only ever seen in movies, or on television. They were insidious and residual, not calming and familiar. Sweeney’s presence is like a soothing balm.

“She was here,” Shadow says quietly, “And… She said to me that… I wasn’t alive.”

“You’re alive,” Sweeney’s adamant words don’t seem to reach him for a thousand years, but when they do, they coil in the pit of Shadow’s stomach. He pours a mug of coffee with a splash of whiskey in it for a man who can’t drink it. He makes a second for himself and curls up in the corner of his bed, back against the icy wall.

The bed dips, occupied by a shimmering glimpse of something beautiful, fire--red hair and keen brown eyes. Sweeney is so close, Shadow could almost reach out and touch him, but his grasp passes right through the space where Sweeney ought to be.

“Am I living?” Shadow asks the occupied emptiness. Sweeney sighs.

“Guess that depends on your definition of living. Am I living? Just ‘cause I can talk and take up space?”

The question twists like a knife in Shadow’s gut, driving Laura’s point deeper, dangerously close to a killing blow. Shadow rubs his fingers back over his scalp and swallows a mouthful of coffee. The bite of hot alcohol makes him tense for a moment. When the heat in his chest settles he coughs softly.

“I killed you,” Shadow says, “The way I see it, that’s got to show I’m… something.”

“Your passivity killed me, Shadow. Not your actions,” Sweeney’s words sound close to Shadow’s ear, like a soft lover’s whisper. “You didn’t kill me… You simply didn’t save me.”

Shadow laughs, harsh, unpleasant, and humorless.

“I miss you,” Shadow’s admittance causes the room to fall into a hush. Sweeney’s presence seems to dissipate and Shadow feels that ache of alone. It creeps in like frost on his windows. It’s icy and debilitating, clutching Shadow in it’s immobilizing grasp.

Then, as suddenly as Sweeney had disappeared, he returned, and Shadow wasn’t alone anymore. He was flooded with the feel of long limbs, light as air, but heavy as lead, crushing him in an embrace. Shadow chokes out something like a sob. His mug tumbles to the ground, coffee spilling and spreading into a quickly cooling puddle. He soaks up that feeling, wanting to wrap his arms around Sweeney in return. He wants to press his lips to Sweeney’s cheek and whisper sweet apologies, but it was all too little too late.

Sweeney’s voice, his lips, are a ghost against Shadow’s wind burned cheek.

“Until this is over, Shadow… I’m not going anywhere.”


	6. don't need saving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> book spoilers and violence ahead

“A little thanks might be in order,” Sweeney says, pressing Mr. Wood’s face harder against the metal of the train car. His nose makes a disgusting crunch as it breaks, blood gushing down the cold surface and onto the floor. He sputters and makes a pained noise while Sweeney kicks the keys across the floor toward Shadow.

Shadow doesn’t hesitate. He turns around and grabs the keys, fiddling with the lock while Sweeney keeps watch by the door for more goons. The sound of radio static and boots are quickly approaching.

“You want thanks, then you should have shown up a couple hours ago, before they bruised my ribs,” Shadow says. He’s grateful despite what his tone might imply, and as he rubs his wrists he gives Sweeney a nod of acknowledgment. He won’t say thanks until they’re totally out of this mess. Sweeney pulls Wood back by his skull and then smashes his head against the wall another time. Unconscious. The man crumples just in time for his peers to come screeching up the corridor. They’ve got guns and gumption, but Shadow’s got rage, and a leprechaun on his side. Luck. Right? They had luck.

“You still got my coin?” Sweeney grunts. Shadow reaches into his shoe and withdraws it. He flicks it off his thumb and to the other man, who catches it deftly in hand without so much as a sideways glance. The coin feels warm in his palm. Sweeney’s grin is menacing, the blood of his split lip has begun to dry in his beard.

“You sure that thing’s lucky enough?” Shadow asks, watching a firing squad form, a row of men on their knees, guns trained on them, and then a second row behind them, standing, aimed keenly. Sweeny snorts and wipes his bloody mouth on his wrist.

“We got a choice but to find out?” he asks. Shadow takes a deep breath. He steadies himself. It’s got to be enough.

“Alright. Well…” Shadow’s plan that’s formulating falls flat as a man calls out to them.

“Get on the ground! Hands behind your heads, or we open fire!” there’s a nervous edge to his voice and Shadow picks up on it immediately. He shifts his weight to his back foot, knees bending slightly. He glances at Sweeney. They’ve gotta rush these guys, while they can. Shadow’s not sure they’ve got authorization to shoot. Spooks were always wrapped up in a myriad of red tape. Could be, luck really was on their side.

Sweeney throws his head back and roars, a battle cry, and then moves forward. A stray bullet fires from a nervous trigger finger, and hits the floor near his feet. The metal flooring bounces (impossible) that bullet upward against the ceiling, and then down again at an angle, sending it whizzing into the midst of the firing squad. Arterial spray paints the metal walls and all hell breaks loose.

Shadow moves on muscle memory. Fighting comes as easily as breathing. He’s never liked it, but that’s never stopped him from being good at it either. Fists and elbows, knees cracking jaws, guns firing in the small space always missing, catching walls and other Spooks, but never Shadow or Sweeney.

Shadow catches glimpses of Sweeney on occasion, one glance, then another, and sees a light in those eyes that is passionate and full of life. Shadow has to focus on the task at hand to keep himself from staring. They find themselves back to back, moving in a circle, keeping each other safe as one by one, all eight men in the train car fall. Some dead, some injured, some crawling away with the hope that they’ll be spared anymore pain.

“Come on. Best not wait for the rest of the cavalry to arrive,” Sweeney’s bloody, sweaty fingers interlock with Shadow’s own when Shadow isn’t paying attention. He is dragged, willingly, toward the exit. They step over unresponsive bodies along the floor that Sweeney had disabled long before he’d opened Shadow’s cell. The train car seemed to go on forever, but when that door swung open and the chilly autumn air hit Shadow’s senses, everything seemed to quiet.

Sweeney stepped down, but for Shadow it was a bit of a jump to the ground. Gravel crunched beneath his feet, his fingers were still laced with Sweeney’s.

“How the hell did you find me?” Shadow asks. He doesn’t even know where he is, so it’s hard to imagine anyone else knowing where to look for him. Sweeney shrugs one shoulder, adamant about moving on. No lingering, couldn’t be too careful. Shadow wasn’t about to argue the point.

“Better question. How the hell did you get kidnapped?” Sweeney counters. Shadow snorts. He wishes he had an answer. They’d gotten separated on their way back from House on the Rock. Shadow remembered feeling the bag over his head, the beating, trying to keep conscious and feel the beats of travel. Nothing stuck out.

“Why do you care? You just came for your fuckin’ coin,” Shadow speaks callously, and gets a squeeze to his fingers as a response.

“Wednesday was lookin’ for you. Surprised, honestly, that I beat him to the punch,” Sweeney says, bringing them back to the main road. As they begin the long walk toward civilization, their fight weary bodies can slow to recover. Shadow realizes now, just how hard his heart is hammering in his chest, how sore every inch of him has become. When a chilly rain starts to drizzle on them both, the feeling is almost a relief.

“I’m glad you did. Not sure I could take his… anything… everything… whatever it is… right now. You know?” Shadow speaks between heavy breaths, trying to catch it, in deep, gulping lungfuls. Sweeney nods.

“Aye. I know. He’s a… special breed, he is. Older than I am, well connected, always… up to something. Grifters like him… ought not to be trusted,” Sweeney says lowly, as if speaking from direct experience, rather than rumor or secondhand knowledge. Shadow casts a skeptical sideways glance at Sweeney.

“And you’re trustworthy?” Shadow can’t keep the incredulous laugh from his lips. Sweeney stops in his tracks for a moment, stopping Shadow with the grip he has on his hand. Shadow is only a few steps ahead, but still has to turn to face him properly.

“I’ve not lied to you. Can you say the same of him? From the moment we met, been nothin’ but honest,” Sweeney says sharply, “I told you who and what I was the minute we met. And he had you strung along like a dog on a leash… Puppy.”

Shadow bristles at the sound of Laura’s pet name for him rolling off that smug irish tongue. He reels his fist back and lands a punch squarely across Sweeney’s jaw. It’s deserved, Sweeney seems to know that, and takes it in stride. He growls lowly, yanking his hand away from Shadow’s and wiping his fingers across the knot forming there. He spits a mouthful of blood.

“Soft spot, eh?” Sweeney mumbles, closing the few strides of space between himself and Shadow. They’re chest to chest, and Sweeney looks down his crooked nose at Shadow, intimidating with his height and the breadth of his body. “I’m just being honest with you, boy-o. If you don’t like that, yeh kin walk back to civilization on your own.”

Shadow stares defiantly upward at Sweeney, keeping steady eye contact. Parts of him are still so sore, so angry, but a larger, saner part of him, reasons that Sweeney has been the most trustworthy person he’s met since he got out of prison. He hadn’t lied to him, and when Shadow was swimming in a sea of mystery and doubt, that was the exact sort of life preserver he needed.

“Did Wednesday hire you to fight me… to test me?” Shadow demands.

“Yes,” Sweeney answers, without even a sliver of hesitation. Shadow swallows a knot in his throat, and then does something really stupid.

“Thanks,” Shadow grabs Sweeney by his rain soaked shirt and pulls him downward, the foot difference in their height is something Shadow isn’t entirely sure how to deal with, but he’s doing his best. Shadow initiates a kiss. It’s a biting, stinging, desperate kiss. It’s what he needs right then. Something raw, honest, unpretending. Shadow needs to not feel alone, to feel like he has some modicum of control over what’s happening to him. Sweeney’s lips are slack at first touch, but Shadow’s tongue and teeth spur him into action.

Sweeney parts for Shadow wanton and willful. He knows what this is, the minute he and Shadow exchange the taste of coppery blood in one another’s mouths. It’s solidarity. Sweeney presses a palm to the small of Shadow’s back, pulling him up more firmly against his body. Shadow is warm, like sunshine, and Sweeney is sturdy like stone. There’s something effortless about kissing like this. It’s cliche, in all the ways it possibly could be. Shadow doesn’t care.

He gasps for breath as he and Sweeney find a break in the midst of brewing passion.

“Get me the hell outta here, Sweeney,” Shadow says, voice low and roughened by desperation.

“Can do, Shadow.”


	7. the road less travelled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> road trip nonsense.

There’s nothing pleasant about this trip. There’s nothing good waiting on the horizon. Still, Shadow smiles as Sweeney stacks coins in the brim of Wednesday’s hat. There was a great deal of truth to his ability to sleep anywhere, anytime. He snored, none the wiser to the soft clink of gold in his cap. The radio croons an old country tune. Shadow knows the words, and he’s not sure why. There’s a familiarity to all of this, being on the go. He’d spend so much of his childhood traveling with his mother, that it was hard to think of a time when he wasn’t moving, or ready to move.

“It’s Cash,” Sweeney points out, observing the intense look of concentration on Shadow’s features. Shadow hadn’t even realized he was mouthing the words as they came, and with Sweeney leaned over the seat, so close to his face, Shadow nearly stops entirely. Personal space, Shadow had noticed, wasn’t Sweeney’s strongest suit.

“Johnny Cash,” Shadow says, and the name of the song comes to him from the deep recesses of his memory. “Folsom Prison Blues.”

Sweeney nods, Shadow catches the glimpse of a smirk from the corner of his eye. He knows where the humor comes from. Shadow’s a free man, now, but part of him still feels like it’s locked up behind bars. Sweeney hums along and then, surprises Shadow when he starts singing. It’s hard not to get caught up in the infectious nature of singing along. Shadow finds himself joining in. Sweeney’s lips split into a wide, toothy grin as they harmonize.

“ _Well if they freed me from this prison, if that railroad train was mine, I bet I'd move it on a little farther down the line…_ ”

Sweeney’s smiling lips brush the shell of Shadow’s ear as he sings, his voice roughened by years of chain smoking and his breath sharp with the smell of whiskey. Shadow doesn’t mind. He turns his head just slightly, impulsively taking his gaze away from the long, open stretch of road to catch the corner of Sweeney’s mouth with his own.

Sweeney’s silenced by the sudden gentle affection. He tilts his head to curl in a little closer, a little more intimately.

The clatter of coins sliding down and scattering all over the front seat of the car startle Shadow out of the moment and he quickly puts his eyes forward again, the wheel jerking uneasily under his grasp. Wednesday swears while Sweeney snickers.

Shadow enjoys those last few bars of Folsom Prison Blues with a smile on his lips and soft flush on his cheeks.


	8. swingin hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just violence. cause fuckin hell yeah violence.

Sweeney hits like a truck. Shadow can taste copper. It’s impossible to keep track of why they’re fighting anymore. Short barbs often came to blows. Shadow didn’t mind anymore. It kept him sharp, kept him on his toes. He couldn’t feel the sting of pain after the first couple blows, and adrenaline rushed through his veins. This is a welcome sensation now and again. Sweeney is chaos, like a storm, bending trees and billowing over Shadow. The force of nature quality to his swings keep Shadow on his toes, keep him keen, he watches for haymakers and listens to the roiling laughter that’s more like thunder in the summer.

“That all yeh got, cunt?” Sweeney challenges Shadow with his words and tone, his amused laughter twisting Shadow up and making him impulsive. Shadow flings himself into the fray, headbutt connecting with Sweeney’s nose, hard enough to bloody it, and knock Sweeney off kilter, but not hard enough to break. This isn’t about breaking Sweeney, it’s about beating him.

“You hit like my granny,” Sweeney spits the words and blood into Shadow’s face. Shadow laughs now, he’s smiling, wild and very much alive.

“You gonna keep talking all night? Or actually hit me,” Shadow’s knuckles are bruised, his fists raised as he keeps light on his feet. Sweeney roars something in language that Shadow doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the way every sinew of Sweeney’s body sings when it moves to take Shadow down.

Sweeney could try, but Shadow knew his patterns now.

Sweeney could try, but he’d inevitably fail, and then drinks would be on him.


	9. another gamble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> slightly nsfw

Shadow’s knee bounces beneath the table as he looks his cards over. He’d never been great at poker. He sits in his socks, boxers, and a half undone dress shirt, waiting for the next card to turn. Sweeney isn’t fairing much better, his luck (the leprechaun insisted this was the true cause) was sour. However, the game had been his suggestion, and he didn’t seem too upset with the way things had gone so far. He sits opposite Shadow, left in only his suspenders, which were hanging limply around his waist, and his well fitting trousers.

Sweeney takes a drag from his cigarette and ashes into a tiny plastic cup, with a small amount of water in the bottom. It’s emblazoned with the motel logo, as are the playing cards in their hands. Shadow eyes the murky water, full of ash and hand rolled cigarettes, listening and looking in his peripheral as Sweeney turns the last card.

Sweeney laughs and clears his throat. Shadow looks down at the spread, then to his hand Sweeney lays down his cards with a smug look of triumph on his features. Shadow swallows a knot in his throat. He knows he’s got nothing, and Sweeney’s got three of a kind. Shadow folds and covers his mouth with his hand as he sighs, elbow propped on the table beside a shit pair of cards.

“What? Not even gonna show us how badly you lost, then? It’s not as if you’ll have to take off more just for havin’ fuck all for a hand,” Sweeney’s teasing him, and lighting another cigarette. Shadow rolls his eyes, leaning away and slouching back against his chair. He waits a few moments while Sweeney enjoys the high of winning the hand for a bit, then starts on the remaining buttons of his shirt. He shrugs out of it and drops it onto the pile that’s slowly begun to collect next to them. Shoes and pants and socks and shirts, all haphazardly thrown.

Sweat has collected on Shadow’s brow. Even with the windows open, the cold outside isn’t enough to keep up with the heater that’s stuck on 85 in the little motel room. Sweat was what started all this, and now, with several articles of clothing cast aside, Shadow is still sweating. Sweeney collects the cards, shuffles, and passes the deck to Shadow to deal the next hand. Shadow doesn’t want his bare ass on this chair, he’s still got two socks left to abandon, and he hopes they outlast Sweeney’s trousers and boxers beneath.

Sweeney watches as Shadow carefully re-shuffles and observes the look of frustration furrowing his features. Shadow is trying to force his will on the cards, and Sweeney can’t help but smirk indulgently. His eyes rove over Shadow’s chest, downward, then up again.

“You’re lookin’ a bit put off, boy-o,” Sweeney points out, “Can’t blame the cards for your bad poker game.”

Shadow stops short as he deals and stares Sweeney down, looking at him as if his gaze alone could set what was left of Sweeney’s clothes ablaze. Sweeney just laughs. Shadow looks at his cards and then back to the spread on the table. He turns the first, then the next, and as he looks at them, he knows his hand is shit, yet again. However…

Shadow cracks a grin and then, quickly stifles it. He doesn’t look directly at Sweeney, but he can see Sweeney taking stock of the brief expression. Shadow turns another card and smiles again, shaking his head minutely. When the last card turns, Shadow clears his throat and fixes Sweeney with an all too self-assured smile. He’s looking very much the part of the cat that got the canary, and it’s having the intended effect. Sweeney looks at his hand and grimaces, then looks at Shadow.

“You’ve got a shite pokerface,” Sweeney says, throwing down his cards. He folds and stands up, going for his fly. Shadow waits until the zipper slides downward before he starts picking up the cards, leaving his own hand untouched, because he’s going to gloat. How can he not? He’s played Sweeney into folding. When Shadow hears the rustle of fabric hitting the floor he looks up. He expected to be faced with a pair of boxers (maybe even something as comical as white with red hearts) but instead he is staring straight ahead into a thick, uncut cock, surrounded by red curls. Sweeney takes a drag from his cigarette as he slowly steps away from his seat and toward the window, an exhaled plume of smoke trailing behind him.

Shadow’s mouth feels strangely dry and his chest is tight. Sweeney’s backside is full and firm, leaving Shadow just as gobsmacked and speechless as his cock. Strip poker, of course, ended when one lost all their clothes. Shadow had always known one of them would end up naked, but it’s still somehow shocking.

“You wanna see the hand that beat you?” Shadow says, his voice cracking briefly. Sweeney turns back toward Shadow, unperturbed by his own nakedness. Shadow turns his hand over and Sweeney slowly approaches. Shadow stands, so as to avoid being so close to Sweeney’s prick when he comes around the table and looks at the card. A two of hearts and a nine of clubs. Nothing.

“You fucker,” Sweeney rumbles lowly. He deposits his cigarette in the little cup and hooks a finger into the waistband of Shadow’s boxers, pulling him closer, despite Shadows clear hesitation. Shadow’s cheeks are slightly flushed, and it would be impossible to tell he was blushing were Sweeney not right on top of him. He’s towering over Shadow to intimidate him, and oddly, Shadow is more intimidated by Sweeney standing this close in the nude than he ever had been when the man was clothed.

“Guess I’m not such a bad poker player after all,” Shadow says, his voice thick with a strange sort of discomfort. Shadow feels the heat in the room and the heat pouring off Sweeney in waves. Blood is starting to flow southward, unbidden by Shadow, body reacting to proximity, to touch that he hasn’t felt in ages. He reasons that he shouldn’t like that. “You’re touching me.”

“I am.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Yeah? Fool me once, shame on me… But you’re not foolin’ me now, Shadow. I’m callin’ this bluff of yours.” Sweeney’s hand dips down, palm against Shadow’s hip thumb still hooked on the waistband of his boxers. He pushes them downward until they fall around Shadow’s ankles. He looks down at Shadow’s exposed flesh, takes stock of the state of the other man, and then cracks a wicked grin as he meets Shadow’s eyes.

“Looks like you’ve got a full house.”


	10. look at me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW BEEP BEEP BEEP PWP BELOW

Sweeney’s grip is something Shadow is becoming more and more familiar with. Months of this, of travel, of strange destinations, of stranger people, having one thing that’s familiar is something of a relief. Still, when that grip twisted away from reassuring and to something more suggestive, Shadow didn’t know what to do with himself. Not at first.

They’re standing in a bar, side by side, and Shadow smiles at a girl who keeps looking their way. Sweeney’s fingers curl around Shadow’s bicep, and pull his focus. Shadow’s skin prickles, goosebumps forming. Sweeney’s close to his ear, speaking in a heady, gruff way that Shadow isn’t sure how to process just yet. It’s not so different than how Sweeney whispered the night they met, save for the restraint. There’s something roiling beneath the surface, and Shadow doesn’t know quite what it is. He wants to pluck those dark notes out and analyze them.

“She’s a looker,” Sweeney says, leaning against the bar. Shadow’s eyes slide over to Sweeney, and he realizes immediately that Sweeney’s not even looking at her. He’s looking with hooded eyes at Shadow. Shadow lifts his glass to his lips, hesitates briefly, and takes a drink.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he’s noncommittal in his reply, and something about Shadow’s tone seems to leave Sweeney dissatisfied. He pulls Shadow closer, that grip on his bicep softening enough to slide down to the crook of his elbow. He runs his thumb over Shadow’s skin, pushing up the fabric of Shadow’s rolled dress shirt sleeve.

“Do you miss it?” Sweeney asks, looking down his nose at Shadow, inspecting him, surveying him like a predator observes particularly tasty looking prey. Shadow knows what Sweeney’s asking about immediately. The context isn’t something one could miss, but Shadow pretends. He feigns ignorance because he doesn’t want to discuss sex with Sweeney.

“Not sure what you mean,” Shadow drops his gaze, turning his head toward the bartop, counting the beads of condensation that have gathered on the polished surface. Sweeney’s hand leaves Shadow’s arm, and suddenly, callous, nicotine stained fingertips touch Shadow’s jaw and urge his gaze upward. He’s looking at Sweeney again, their eyes meeting, the stare burning a hole through Shadow.

“You need me to spell it out for you?” Sweeney’s tone is somewhere between amused and condescending. Spell it out? Shadow really wishes Sweeney wouldn’t but the man’s already taking a breath to speak again. “Fucking. Do you miss that? The tight, warm, coil of pleasure that you can only get from another person.”

Shadow swallows a growing knot in his throat and his face feels strangely hot. Sweeney’s lips curl into an indulgent smile as he watches Shadow flush. Shadow wasn’t a prude, but it had been a long time. He’d turned down sex the last time it was desperately offered to him, and while in prison, it was one of the only things he wanted to do. Lifting weights was a piss poor substitute for the taste of sweat on someone’s skin.

“Why are you so curious about my appetites, Sweeney? This how you get off? Asking other men about their sex lives?” Shadow speaks with his usual level of casualness, but he’s quickly following up with a mouthful of beer to try and keep this exchange brief. He tries to turn his face away again, but Sweeney’s hand finds his jaw more securely this time, grasping rather than nudging. That all too familiar grasp. He brings Shadow’s eyes back around and Shadow finds his whole body turning with them. He leans his hip against the bar and with a modicum of defiance, averts his eyes after only seconds of contact. Sweeney sighs through his nose.

“Look at me, Shadow,” the leprechaun grunts, and Shadow has to focus to keep from obeying. Sweeney waits a beat, and then some part of him gives up. His grip goes a bit slack and he slides his fingers down over Shadow’s throat, into the parted collar of his shirt, tracing the line of his clavicle, sweeping over smooth skin and angular bone. Shadow’s breath catches in his throat and his gaze flickers back to Sweeney. His touch is intimate, and that’s something Shadow can’t ignore. By the smug look on Sweeney’s face as he inches closer, closing what’s left of the space between them, Shadow guesses that Sweeney was counting on that.

“You ever knock boots while in prison? Find yourself a lovely prag, and get your rocks off?” Sweeney teases, but he’s truly looking for an answer. He’s so close to Shadow’s face that Shadow is struggling to keep eye contact. The question has Shadow’s stomach turning, his chest fluttering, and his heart hammering in his ears.

“No.”

It’s the honest to god truth. Shadow had stayed faithful to Laura while in prison, even though she didn’t offer the same loyalty. Shadow didn’t have loyalty to Laura anymore. Or, at the very least, he didn’t need to have loyalty to Laura anymore. Sweeney chuckles darkly and nods, his nose brushing against Shadow’s. Shadow thinks he should move away, but he’s rooted to the spot with Sweeney’s fingers inside his shirt.

“Well, then this is sure to be a fresh and exciting experience for you,” Sweeney watches the realization rise on Shadow’s face, but before Shadow can truly protest, Sweeney captures Shadow’s lips with his own.

Shadow doesn’t respond at first. He doesn’t lean in and he also doesn’t fight. Sweeney’s lips taste of whiskey and smoke and Shadow realizes too little too late that he’s tasting more than Sweeney’s lips. There’s a warm tongue rolling past his lips, dragging over his own. Sweeney’s spontaneous and sensual. Shadow would have thought him the type to nibble and bite, but he’s all plush lips, gentle sucking, and slick tongue. Shadow can’t be an innocent bystander in this kiss, he has to participate. He can’t help it. It’s the first proper kiss he’s had in years and it’s wonderful. No cold, dead, dry tongue from Laura, no fleeting desperation from Audrey, and no precocious innocence from Zorya Polunochnaya.

This was all Sweeney. He’s smooth, like the Southern Comfort he drinks, and hot, like the burning ends of the cigarettes he smokes. Shadow’s eyes roll back in his head and slip shut. He hums something appreciative into Sweeney’s mouth, not a word, just a noise, guttural and pleasure fueled. Sweeney’s smiling against Shadow’s mouth, so self satisfied and self assured in this moment. Shadow’s hands don’t know quite what to do, so they find a home fisted in the front of Sweeney’s shirt. Shadow can feel the suspenders beneath and has a sudden, strange but welcome urge to pull Sweeney by them, to draw them back and let them snap against Sweeney’s skin.

Sweeney withdraws gently, and Shadow chases for half a second before his senses come back to him. Shadow licks his lips and opens his eyes. Sweeney is looking at him, gauging for reaction. That same, analytical, brown-eyed stare he’d given Shadow when trying to goad him into a fight on the night they met.

“You alright, lad? You look a bit flush,” Sweeney’s taunt is enough to bring Shadow back to earth and out of the golden clouds of pleasant, kiss fueled endorphins.

“I’m not gay,” Shadow says immediately, and then he feels like an ass for saying it. The sudden need to secure his masculinity is so deeply programmed, so firmly ingrained, that he can’t help himself. Sweeney laughs, hoarse and truly amused.

“And I am?” Sweeney asks, incredulous but still smiling, “So narrow, Shadow. You need to broaden your horizons, while you’ve still got time to.”

Shadow feels his flush deepening from the burning shame of his own words.

“Yeah?” Shadow tries to recover, he glances over his shoulder and that girl is staring at them, wide eyed. Shadow has to look away. He clears his throat and looks anywhere but Sweeney’s face. “Is this the part where you tell me you’re just the person to help me do that?”

Sweeney doesn’t ask permission, he takes Shadow’s face in his hands and crushes him in another kiss. This one is fervent and Shadow doesn’t hesitate when returning it. It’s all impulse, muscle memory, Shadow grabs a handful of Sweeney’s backside and squeezes, pulling them up against one another. Shadow’s not as young as he once was, his body doesn’t respond like it did when he was twenty anymore, but he can feel something stirring deep in the pit of his stomach. He’s not hard, but he suddenly, very much wants to be.

Sweeney breaks away and looks Shadow in the eye. He stares him down and rubs a thumb over Shadow’s full lower lip. It’s kiss swollen and reddened, making his mouth look all the more inviting.

“I could be,” Sweeney offers, his tone thick with affection. It occurs to Shadow for the first time that Mad Sweeney was actually sweet on him. How long had that been developing? How long had Shadow simply not been able to connect the dots. Late night chats in cheap motels, coffee in the morning, the occasional jab, the casual touches to his shoulders, it all seems so glaringly obvious now.

And now that Shadow thought about it, he realized, he’d played right along. He’d lead Sweeney on with returning those gestures. Shadow’s long lingering look at Sweeney’s mouth as he processes his own actions and the events that lead them to this moment help him make up his mind.

What he had to lose was exactly nothing, and stacked against all he could gain, it just made sense in the moment. Why not?

“Then let’s go,” Shadow says, and Sweeney needs no more encouragement than that. It’s a short, brisk walk back to the motel, and they pass Wednesday’s room without stopping to check in. Shadow can feel nerves starting to claw their way up into his chest the closer they get. Sweeney turns the key in the lock and pushes the door open for Shadow. Shadow doesn’t move. He can’t seem to right away.

“Gettin’ cold feet on me, are yeh?” Sweeney take’s Shadow by the hand, and doesn’t let him slip into anxiousness. He closes the door with a kick of his boot heel against the panelling. Shadow stops when Sweeney stops, and he considers how unprepared he is for this. Sweeney seems to have known where this was going all along. There’s a small drugstore bag on the nightstand that brings Shadow a small amount of relief.

“I’ve been around for forty-thousand years, Shadow. I’ve lived, I’ve drank, I’ve fucked, I’ve loved… Don’t look so nervous. Your precious cherry is in good hands,” Sweeney’s vulgar and mildly insensitive in how he’s treating this, but for Shadow, that’s refreshing. It makes it all seem so much less important. Still, a word sticks out, it’s throbbing against the forefront of his mind now that it’s been said. Hard to ignore, but Shadow is determined to do just that.

“I’m not a virgin,” Shadow counters as Sweeney slowly begins to pry open the buttons of Shadow’s shirt. Exposed skin is caressed by callous fingertips. Fingertips that were plucking pleasurable chords out of Shadow as they skated across his nipples as easily as they’d plucked gold coins out of thin air.

_With panache._

“Might as well be,” Sweeney tucks his face into the crook of Shadow’s neck and breathes him in. He drags his tongue over Shadow, producing a shiver. His teeth follow to leave a mark, a proper hickey. Shadow hasn’t had one since before he and Laura were married. It feels good. It sends blood steadily southward. Sweeney’s hands feel oddly massive. The sheer mass of him, his height of seven feet, and the broadness of his shoulders make Shadow feel oddly delicate.

Sweeney strips Shadow first, then himself, and brings him to the bed. Shadow’s back hits the slippery quilted blanket and nerves make his muscles tense. Every inch of him is pulled taut, but Sweeney doesn’t seem to mind so much now that they’re naked and in bed together. Shadow looks at Sweeney’s body, he looks at the length of his body, the thickness of his uncut cock, heavy between his legs, the soft trail of chest hair that tapered its way down his body and between his legs. He’s a man. There are no gentle curves for Shadow’s hands to fit into, only firm planes of muscle and strong angles. It’s different and Shadow finds a strange sort of comfort in that.

This is not a retread of something else, this is not some woman that will have to stack up against his late wife, this is Sweeney. Sweeney who, for some bizarre reason, liked him. What was more bizarre, Shadow realized, was how strongly that sentiment was returned. Sweeney’s legs tangle with Shadow’s and his arms wrap around him while they kiss and familiarize themselves with the shapes of one another.

Shadow’s hands rove, he feels the hard jut of Sweeney’s erect prick against his thigh, he tangles his fingers in red hair and holds on tight. Shadow tries to let his mind drift off as Sweeney’s lips drift lower. Sweeney’s mouth is so warm and inviting when it sinks around Shadow that Shadow chokes on the air he gasps for. Sweeney’s hand is steady against his stomach, pressing him down against the mattress as he sucks greedily at Shadow’s cock.

The act had meaning. It was something Shadow needed. He felt a surge of confidence and strength for the first time since leaving prison. He felt justified and satisfied and wanted. He felt desired. He’d asked himself over and over what he’d done wrong to drive Laura to Robby, but there was no room for that question anymore. The only thing there was room for was the wanton way Shadow said Sweeney’s name.

Sweeney takes his time, he lets Shadow thrust down his throat, he encourages Shadow to let go with moans of approval, until Shadow can take no more and spills himself in Sweeney’s mouth. Shadow’s hips buck and his legs shake, his back bowing away from the mattress as he fills Sweeney’s mouth with everything he has. When he’s spent, Sweeney swallows and lets Shadow’s cock slide out of his mouth. Shadow is sweating and panting, he’s feeling blissful. The way his body goes slack and relaxes is precisely what Sweeney wants.

Sweeney doesn’t have to struggle to keep Shadow relaxed as he shuffles around for drugstore lubricant from a generic clear and purple bottle. He pours it over his fingers and goes to work.

“Wh…What are you doing?” Shadow protests halfheartedly. Sweeney’s fingers slip easily inside Shadow, rocking and stretching while looking for a rather easy to find but very effective spot. Shadow feels Sweeney’s finger crook against his prostate and his cock twitches, a bit of cum dripping from him as a result. It feels too good, Shadow is still so sensitive. He protests with something between a grunt and a whine. It doesn’t deter Sweeney.

“Look at me, Shadow,” Sweeney insists as Shadow’s head lolls to one side on the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut. Shadow doesn’t respond, he stays where he is, trying to make sense of the sensation he’s experiencing. Sweeney hooks his finger against Shadow’s sweet spot again, rhythmic, punctuating his words, “Look. At. Me.”

Shadow gives in, every rub against that spot making him moan, startled by his own neediness. He looks at Sweeney, meets his eyes, and finds a strange sense of centeredness in their gaze. Sweeney’s focus make Shadow feel even more exposed than he initially thought possible. He wants to bury his face in the comforter and never look up into those soft brown eyes again. Sweeney holds him in that stare, while his fingers properly lubricate Shadow. Shadow knows what he’s being prepared for, but when he looks at Sweeney’s cock again, he feels as though nothing would ever truly prepare him for that.

Shadow hears the condom wrapper, and he closes his eyes again, as if somehow that will protect him from the newness and the strangeness of all this. Sweeney’s cock nudges up against him, it feels impossibly huge and hot. Shadow opens his mouth to protest, but Sweeney’s tongue catches him first. He steals the words of protest from Shadow’s lips with his skillful tongue.

He breaks the kiss and takes Shadow by the jaw, holding his head in place as he slowly begins to push. Shadow feels Sweeney begin to breach him, he hisses in discomfort, but doesn’t try and struggle away.

“Open your eyes, and look at me, Shadow. Stop runnin’ from me,” Sweeney croons, his words as sweet and as sickly as mead. Shadow’s eyes flutter open, and as they do, Sweeney sinks inside him, filling him up, stretching him, leaving Shadow gasping and burning. He feels a strange sort of embarrassment, but in that embarrassment, he also finds a feeling of liberation. Sweeney keeps his chin in hand and stares Shadow down. Those lusty eyes, pupils blown wide, are devouring Shadow.

“I’m not running,” Shadow rasps. Sweeney smiles, and kisses Shadow with his eyes open. When he pulls away, his hips move in the same direction, drawing back, drawing out. His hips thrust back, their bodies connecting with a satisfying clap of sweaty skin on sweaty skin. Shadow groans, the noise rattling deep in his chest. It’s a pained groan, but as Sweeney thrusts, those pained noises evolve. Shadow finds the pain fades quickly, and something else entirely starts to form. Pressure and pleasure in a form he’d never known before have him speechless.

He’s a mess, sweat and swear words, long, throaty moans, and his legs spreading wider to let Sweeney get deeper, all these little things, progressing on their own, as if this was how it was always meant to be. As if this was how Shadow’s body was always supposed to feel. Warm and full. Sweeney’s thick cock presses up against that bundle of nerves inside him with every thrust, every stroke of in and out, and Shadow’s soft member weeps against his stomach, red and hypersensitive.

Sweeney’s hand on his jaw is a constant. Shadow’s eyes threaten to slip shut now and again. Each time they roll back and his eyelids flutter, Sweeney thrusts harder, he connects with a hard slap, and reminds Shadow in a low, rumbling command to keep them open.

“I want you to look at me Shadow. Look at me, see me,” Sweeney’s insistent, and Shadow doesn’t really know why it’s so important, but he does his best to comply. “I want you to look at me in the eyes…”

Sweeney leans closer, their noses only a hair’s breadth away.

“I want you to look me in the eyes when I come inside you.”

Shadow’s body jolts at the filthy suggestion, his cock stirring slightly, growing hard again with every thrust. He nods his understanding and reaches down between their bodies to stroke himself to full hardness again. He rocks his hips up toward Sweeney, trying to commit the feel of every inch of him to memory.

“Whatever you want, Sweeney,” Shadow agrees, voice weak and raspy from overuse. Sweeney grins down at him and tightens his grasp on Shadow’s jaw, pulling it downward, forcing his mouth open so he can slip his thumb past Shadow’s lips. Shadow sucks indulgently on Sweeney, for the sake of showmanship, for the sheer pleasure of watching how Sweeney’s face twists and contorts with pleasure.

“Go ahead,” Shadow encourages as Sweeney smears spit across Shadow’s chin. Shadow’s eyes are locked with Sweeney’s, unflinching, unblinking. “Come inside me, Sweeney.”

A few short thrusts later, Sweeney doubles over and does just that. His body is wracked with long, guttural moans, his cock pulses and twitches inside Shadow, and the way Sweeney moans Shadow’s name sends Shadow over the edge in turn a few minutes later.

Sweeney goes deadweight against Shadow, his cock still so painfully hard inside the other man. He fights to catch his breath, and Shadow runs his fingers through Sweeney’s hair a few times, letting him bask in that pleasurable afterglow, letting him wallow in the mess they’d made of themselves. Then Shadow takes a fistful of Sweeney’s hair and uses it to coax Sweeney into lifting his head.

“Look at me, Sweeney,” Shadow echoes Sweeney’s own tone, and smirks. Shadow is just as red faced and out of breath. Sweeney is staring with bleary, blissed out eyes at Shadow. He gives one halfhearted thrust, startling a moan from Shadow before Sweeney pulls out, leaving Shadow feeling all too empty.

“You’re a right beautiful bastard Shadow Moon. All I do is look at you,” Sweeney sounds just on the edge of self deprecating. Shadow strokes his fingers through Sweeney’s hair, then helps him dispose of his used condom and pulls him in close so that he can rest his head on Sweeney’s chest, ready for sleep to claim him. Shadow yawns and glances up at Sweeney one last time before turning out the light.

“I’ll be looking at you too.”


	11. the long watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR BOOK SPOILERSSSS. You have been warned.
> 
> Also angst.
> 
> And major character death.

Shadow doesn’t hesitate, and it makes Sweeney sick to his stomach. Wednesday was in everyone’s skin, in their marrow, like a cancer, and he’d snatched Shadow too. Shadow says he wants to do this, but Sweeney doesn’t agree. Shadow only thinks this is what he wants. Maybe he thinks it’ll bring him some kind of peace, but Sweeney spits toward Wednesday’s corpse as they tie Shadow down. Shadow was good. He was a good man with a good heart and loyalty unlike any Sweeney had ever seen before. Wednesday was just a parasite, feeding off that.

He didn’t deserve Shadow’s loyalty. No one really did.

“What are you doing?” Shadow’s voice is gruff when he addresses Sweeney. Sweeney eyes the rope around Shadow’s throat and grunts. It’s restricting Shadow’s breathing, his vocal chords are pinched. No charming, dulcet tones, just raspy irritation. Sweeney looks around from his spot, standing at the base of the tree, and then looks up at Shadow.

“The fuck’s it look like? I’m waiting.”

Sweeney watches something like confusion cross Shadow’s face in the darkening sky. His naked, bound form is painted in orange and pink and gold. Sweeney wasn’t about to let that warm, brown skin turn pale and gray. He couldn’t bring himself to sit idly by in some shithole motel with his own luck running out, while Shadow hanged. Standing watch was merely part of it. The more important part, was keeping Shadow alive.

“Go, Sweeney,” Shadow grunts, readjusting himself as best he can in his restraints. Sweeney makes no move to listen. Night falls. Sweeney rests his back against the trunk, and sits patiently.

The hours don’t pass easy. Silence falls over them as the sun sinks and the cold sets in. Shadow shivers in his ropes, and Sweeney flips a coin over his knuckles, back and forth, a rhythm that is soothing in its simplicity. Sweeney doesn’t look at Shadow. He can’t, or else he might succumb to the urge to cut him down. He’d have done so already, if not for his respect for Shadow. Sweeney knows Shadow won’t just give in so easy. It’s a last resort, and an unfortunate one.

It’s Shadow who breaks the heavy quiet between them, after a while. Sweeney can’t help but wish Shadow wouldn’t. Save your strength, Sweeney thinks to himself, save your breath.

“Why are you still here?” Shadow’s inquiry leaves a bitter taste in Sweeney’s mouth. Shadow speaks with such disdain that Sweeney wishes he wasn’t there at all. It’s hard, to watch a man give up his life and his body for a fucker like Wednesday who wouldn’t cross the road to piss on you, were you on fire.

“As if you don’t know,” Sweeney answers, his words loaded with meaning. Shadow doesn’t have an appropriate response for the revealing statement. Sweeney glances up and the light of the moon catches every plane of Shadow’s body, bathing it in pale light. The ropes look black; they look agonizing.

“You sure know how to pick ‘em,” Sweeney adds lowly, and it takes a moment of righteous indignation before Shadow realizes the words weren’t meant for him. Sweeney was speaking about himself. Shadow quiets again, and lets the unspoken remain just that. It’s too tiresome to argue when Sweeney’s mind is already made up.

Sunrise comes, with swirling winds and chirping birds, and Sweeney stays. Sweeney is steadfastly rooted to the spot like the angel at the gates of the garden. He is a man full of purpose with something to protect. He climbs the tree to give Shadow water, his hands shaking and his mouth screwed shut in defiant silence. Shadow turns his head and their noses brush against one another. Sweeney sighs, avoiding eye contact. Hours move like minutes, the sky shifting in an imaginary time lapse above their heads.

Sunrise comes. Rain pelts Shadow’s skin and Sweeney stands beneath an umbrella, shivering, but stubborn. Shadow laughs at the downpour as if its assault is as light a sprinkling sunshower in June.

Sunrise comes. Sweeney has taken to reading, sometimes quietly to himself, from an old book he’d had handy in his breast pocket. It’s not in English, but a language older than any Shadow has ever heard. Sweeney doesn’t know if Shadow is grateful for the sound of syllables curling around his tongue, or if he’s so far gone now that it’s all just become background noise.

Sunrise comes. Sweeney can hear the gurgling of Shadow’s stomach, the pain he feels has become Sweeney’s pain. They don’t eat, and they don’t speak. They drink water and watch the grass grow to sway in the breeze. Five days. More than half the time gone, and Shadow is starting to fade. Sweeney can see the light going out in his eyes. He sings a song from a time long since past, something from his home that he’s never seen. Shadow listens with bleary eyes as a fever sets in. He’s dying, he knows it as well as Sweeney does. As Sweeney sings, Shadow smiles. Death sounds peaceful, Sweeney knows this, but he doesn’t want Shadow to give in just yet.

Sunrise comes. Sweeney spends the day gazing up at the clouds. Shadow can’t lift his head anymore, but Sweeney paints him a picture of bright blue and puffy white. He tells him which ones look like breasts, and Shadow wheezes a laugh, because it’s all he has the strength to do. Sweeney brings Shadow water, and the animals living in the tree gather closer, in awe of the thing that Shadow’s done, is doing, and will do.

Sunrise comes, and Sweeney knows Shadow hasn’t got much left in him. He tries to keep Shadow’s spirits up by telling him it’s nearly over. His wording brings a wry, darkened smile to Shadow’s lips.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes slipping shut on Sweeney, “I think it is.”

Sweeney clenches his fists. He can smell the rot of Wednesday’s body, and it makes him furious, though not as furious as Shadow’s defeated outlook. He’s given up, and Sweeney is ready, knife tucked into his belt, to end this. Shadow breathes shallowly until nightfall. Nightfall brings a new kind of pain. It’s the sort Sweeney never thought he’d have to feel. Jealousy, like a flood of hot coals down his throat and into his stomach.

Nightfall brings a pale, lumbering figure. The shambling heap that’s left of Laura Moon finds her way to the tree. She comes and looks up, humbled but detached.

“What have you done, puppy?” Laura’s hand presses against the base of the tree. Her pin in her shoulder his slipping. Her other arm hangs limp at her side. Sweeney snarls, but doesn’t intervene. He’s seen better days, himself. Hunger and lack of proper sleep has left him weary in ways he’d never been before. Laura smiles at Sweeney, while Shadow hangs, limp and near death. He’s too far gone to see she’s there.

“Have you been here, with him, the whole time?” Laura asks, her voice gentle but damaged. Her vocal chords are decomposing, leaving her with little to work with. Sweeney steps between her and the tree, towering over her with a stern look of distaste. She shows no sign of being perturbed or put off, only sad curiosity. Sweeney wets his lips before he speaks. His own voice is dry and raspy.

“I have,” he confirms, as if to demand where the hell she had been. They both knew she couldn’t stand out in the sunlight for days, but Sweeney thinks she ought to have. Let your body bloat, at least he’d know you cared. Laura reaches into her shirt and draws out a chain, from which hangs a familiar coin. It’s decorated with the face of the sun, and it sparkles in the moonlight, like a beacon. Sweeney wants to snatch it from around her neck but refrains. He refrains out of respect for the man who hangs above them, back torn open by bark and time.

“I have another question for you, Mad Sweeney,” Laura says, looking at the coin and then up at the towering leprechaun. Sweeney stands a little straighter. What she asks, he isn’t prepared to answer, but has to anyway.

“Go on, then,” Sweeney urges.

Laura’s eyes are dulled by decay, but still keen as they scan Sweeney’s face.

“Do you love Shadow?”

Sweeney shifts his weight from foot to foot, and before he can answer, his eyes move to Shadow. Shadow who has seen so much, been through hell and back, Shadow who wouldn’t give Sweeney his twenty dollar ticket out, and instead, dragged him kicking and screaming back toward life... Shadow who saved him.

A series of memories pass in a blur. Shadow yanking Sweeney out of danger, and tuning a car radio to find a song for them to sing. He sees Shadow stretching in the early hours of the morning, soaking in sunlight through a gap in hotel curtains while Sweeney buried his face in his pillows to try and nurse his hangover. They’d come close to something almost domestic. Lakeside had been there home. Wednesday was always watching, always seething, but within the walls of their chilly little apartment, there was a kind of peace that couldn’t be fabricated. Shadow cooking a pot of chili and talking about the good ol’ days. Boxing and robbing casinos and late nights in prison reading history books by tiny fragments of light from the hallway.

And those careful kisses, in darkened corners where no one could see them. Shadow confessing he’d never kissed a man before, and Sweeney salaciously promising they’d do a lot more than kiss. Shadow’s hands against his chest, pushing him and laughing.

When Sweeney thought of Shadow, when he thought of all they’d become, it was undeniable. Sweeney runs his fingers through his hair and lights the only cigarette he has left.

“No less than you,” Sweeney answers. Laura smiles sadly, and unhooks the chain from her neck. It’s all the answer she needs. Sweeney sees it on her face, that she’s made up her mind and doesn’t want this gift anymore. It’s just brought pain, to her and to Shadow. The man can’t move on if she’s dead but not dead.

“Then you should take this back,” Laura says softly, “you’ll need it. You both will… For what comes next.”

She extends her hand, palm up and offers Sweeney his luck back. Sweeney stares at it for a long time, and listens to the way Shadow’s breath rattles, slow and weak. He reaches out and covers her upturned palm with his own. He looks at Laura, and she nods to him. It was time to move on. They all had to.

“I dedicate this death… to Shadow,” Sweeney speaks with finality and plucks the coin from her hand. Laura’s eyes well and murky tears run over her cheeks. She exhales:

“Thank you.”

Sweeney watches her crumple and clutches the coin tighter in his fist. He’s waited long enough, and so has Shadow. There would be no more standing watch over the dead. The dead didn’t need Shadow. Sweeney did.

The sound of his knife cutting through rope sounds ominously loud in the open expanse around them. Sweeney works quickly, knowing that there’s no turning back, no stopping, he has to take Shadow down and set him free.

Shadow’s body is cold in Sweeney’s arms, and Sweeney clutches him close. He holds on and tries to impart his own waning warmth to Shadow. He takes the coin on its chain and puts it around Shadow’s neck. It’s hot and its light floods Shadow’s features. A supernatural warmth radiates from it and pulses. Sweeney’s not sure he’ll ever know luck again, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll give Shadow the sun itself, if it means he’ll live to carry it.

“Come on, yeh bastard. Open your eyes,” Sweeney urges. Shadow’s lips are cracked and chapped but it doesn’t matter. Sweeney kisses them anyway. They’re still against his own, but he can’t pull away. Sweeney presses more firmly and wills those lips to kiss him back.

At long last, as clouds pass in front of the moon and cast them into utter darkness, they do. Shadow breathes against Sweeney’s mouth and presses back, ever so lightly.

I’m here.

Sweeney gathers Shadow’s belongings from beneath the rock and dresses him. Fuck gods, fuck destiny, fuck war, fuck it all, Sweeney thinks. Shadow loops his arms loosely around Sweeney’s neck, and Sweeney clutches him close against his chest as he carries him toward the road.

“Where are we going?” Shadow croaks against Sweeney’s skin. Sweeney answers with a level of surety he’s never known before now.

“Home.”


	12. happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. VERY NSFW. Dirty talk kink and bottom Sweeney.

Shadow takes the hand around his throat in stride. It feels good; the restriction of airflow only makes it all feel headier as Sweeney curls around him from behind, using that grip to keep them flush together. Shadow’s not sure what the other man’s angle is, but he make Shadow feel small. He makes Shadow feel fragile.

“Come one then,” Sweeney’s mouth and words are hot against Shadow’s ear. It’s a soft brush of breath and a hard press of lips, every syllable vividly forming against Shadow’s skin, “Let me show you a good time. I’ll ride your cock better than any slag from here to Cuchulainn. Don’t you miss that? A hot… tight… willing hole to fuck? Tell me nothin’ would make you happier, Shadow. Tell me--”

Shadow groans, desire drawing his pelvis into a slow backward rock, his hips grinding against Sweeney through their jeans. The bar is crowded, the cigar smoke filled air is cloyingly sweet, and god only knows where Wednesday has gone. Shadow doesn’t want to say yes so easily, but he sure as hell doesn’t want to say no, either. Opportunity was knocking, hot and heavy, against Shadow’s door. It was impossible to ignore.

“You wanna sit on my cock?” Shadow growls, turning his head just a fraction to catch the line of Sweeney’s bearded jaw with his teeth. He tastes sweat, and it’s more intoxicating than they whiskey he’d been drinking. Sweeney always pushed him. Shadow had never been much of a drinker. Beers at backyard cookouts, the occasional cocktail when out for a nice dinner with Laura. Sweeney plied him with overly sweet sherry cask whiskey and cheap fried food, his idea of romance, Shadow imagined.

“Would I offer ifen I weren’t willing?” Sweeney speaks in a husky whisper, curling his face into Shadow’s neck to drag his mouth over skin, leaving behind reddening marks. Shadow has grown accustomed to these love bites. They feel so good that Shadow gets all weak in the knees, like a swooning school boy. Some things never lost their appeal. Hickeys, oddly enough, were one of those things for Shadow. Sweeney knew him too well, knew how to get under his skin.

Banter and heavy petting.

Sweeney’s free hand snakes around to cup Shadow through his jeans, in plain view of everyone in the bar. He gropes him, attentive to the noises Shadow makes when he’s grabbed, because they are among Sweeney’s favorite things in life. Shadow rocks forward into that hand and then back against Sweeney again. They’ve had chemistry since the moment they met. I’ll fight you for it, Shadow can still hear the words, echoing around in his head like they live there now.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Shadow suggests, and Sweeney laughs against his bruised skin. The vibrations of his mirth curl around Shadow as welcome as the hand palming him through his jeans. Sweeney sways, making Shadow sway with him, to the tune of the music filtering through the speakers in the bar.

“What? Don’t want to make me cum in front of an audience?” Sweeney challenges. Shadow growls. He likes the idea more than he cares to admit, but he wouldn’t indulge it. His life was in a precarious place as it was. He didn’t need to get arrested again anytime soon.

“Tempting, but no,” Shadow pulls out of Sweeney’s grasp, and the leprechaun groans at the loss of contact. He’s so impatient that he can’t stand the space between them. Shadow laces their fingers together and leads the way to the car. He drives, while Sweeney paws at him and gives Shadow a few more bruises on his neck. They’re careful, Shadow keeps his eyes ahead no matter how much he wants to turn his head and kiss Sweeney.

It takes far too long to get back to the hotel, and getting undressed is a haphazard affair. Fabric is abused by desperately groping fingers, jeans are tossed aside so they can press together, hips meeting. Sweeney’s cock is long, thick, and hard against Shadow’s stomach as they stand at the foot of the bed and kiss. Shadow’s had it inside him, and he trembles at the memory, being pulled apart by Sweeney’s fingers and driven down onto that cock. Every thrust had felt more agonizingly good than the last.

This was going to be a hell of a change for them both. Sweeney towering over him as he pressed him back onto the mattress. The bedding was still a mess from the night before. Shadow liked waking up next to Sweeney as much as he liked going to bed with him. This was an oasis for him, in the dry, soul crushing desert of current events. Sweeney’s lips, the smell of cigarettes on his breath, the taste of ash and whiskey in his mouth, all of it culminated to something indescribably good.

Sweeney would fuck him until he forgot his name, where he was, and then Shadow would pass out, only to wake up and find Sweeney’s tongue or fingers inside him, or around him, and they’d fuck again. They’d shower together and meet Wednesday for breakfast. Wednesday’s disapproval was palpable, but Shadow didn’t care. He didn’t care about any of it. He just wanted more. More of Sweeney’s intoxicating presence to help him forget the pain he was in, and all he had suffered.

“Lie back,” Sweeney rasps, and then, as Shadow relaxes, Sweeney takes him. Every inch. He doesn’t even flinch, just enjoys it. Shadow gets lost in that tight, all encompassing heat. Sweeney is pliant and slick from preparation. He’d thought everything through beforehand, always confident that he’d get what he wanted from Shadow in the end.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” Shadow presses his shoulders into the mattress and thrusts up into Sweeney as they rock together. Sweeney guides Shadow’s grip to his hips and uses his long legs to lift up and press down again, meeting Shadow’s rhythm and taking all the pleasure he can get. His cock bounces with every thrust, hard and dripping onto Shadow’s stomach.

“You’re not so bad yourself big boy,” Sweeney’s grin is crooked and his eyes half-lidded in bliss. He was making good on his word. He rode Shadow better than anyone could ever hope to. He knew just how to cant his hips, how to roll down onto his cock and rock against him. Friction and sweat and the smell of sex are cloyingly sweet in the air around them. Shadow drinks it in like a fine whiskey and reaches between them to grasp Sweeney’s cock.

Sweeney tips his head back, hips jumping toward Shadow’s grasp.

“Ahh-- Ahah… That’s it… fuckin’... hell… Shadow,” Sweeney’s movements become more erratic, his eyes roll back and slip shut, he’s an indulgent mess, his skin glistening with perspiration. Shadow can’t help but want to commit the sight to memory, permanently. Tall, pale, broad chested and well fit. Sweeney was a delectable sight, bouncing on Shadow’s cock.

“Yeah? You like that? You like my dick inside you?” Shadow’s lips and tongue curl willingly around vulgarity. He loves the way his words go straight to Sweeney’s erection, making it twitch and weep in his hand.

“You know I do, yeh fucker,” Sweeney hisses through clenched teeth, “I love every, hot, thick inch o’ yeh.”

Sweeney’s words are slurring together, becoming clumsier with every thrust against that sensitive bundle of nerves inside him. Shadow slides one hand up along the small of Sweeney’s back and presses lightly, encouraging him to bend so their mouths can meet in a filthy, unskilled kiss. It’s all sloppy tongue and eager lips, their foreheads pressing together as Shadow increases his pace, thrusting up into Sweeney. Their bodies smack together, satisfyingly, starting to make Shadow’s skin prickle and sting from the connections. Sweeney’s jaw hangs open, every thrust bringing another, sharp, sudden moan leave his lips, only to be swallowed by Shadow’s own.

“Tell me you love my dick. Tell me you wanna cum. C’mon, Sweeney, beg me to fuck you ‘til you cum,” Shadow growls, possessively digging his blunt nails into Sweeney’s skin. Sweeney is happy to accommodate, speaking low and filthy against Shadow’s jaw.

“‘Course I love your prick. I’ve wanted to fuck myself on it since I first saw it… Make me-- Make me cum, Shadow. C’mon yeh shite, fuck me like you mean it. Fuck me like a proper man. Cum inside me. Yeh? Do it. Gimme all yeh got, big boy.”

Shadow’s hips snap to attention and his grip on Sweeney tightens. Shadow can feel himself approaching his breaking point. He’s so close to orgasm that his movements lose their finesse and become nothing short of desperate. He chokes out a moan as he spills himself inside Sweeney. Sweeney isn’t far behind, shooting hot ropes of cum all over Shadow’s hand and chest, even managing to get a bit on his neck and chin. Shadow feels pleasantly dirty. He grins against Sweeney’s skin, pumping his fist over Sweeney’s aching cock until Sweeney whimpers slightly and shoves his hand away.

“Big boy, huh?” Shadow pants. Sweeney laughs lowly against Shadow’s neck and bites him playfully.

“Yeah. Not as big as me… But, yeah.”


	13. hopeless fucking romantic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some schmoop. and very vague book spoilers that reference previous chapters. this is pretty much an au series at this point.

Sweeney wets his lips, a dart of tongue over them. He can taste copper. Shadow’s dark eyes are focused elsewhere. It’s agony to see him like this. Agony to see him thrust out of his element and into a world he doesn’t want or understand. Shadow sits in a chair by the window, shivering, soaked to the bone with freezing rain, and refusing to undress. Sweeney doesn’t like this feeling, this sinking, disgusting, overwhelming feeling brewing inside him. He can still see the raw rope burns and bruises from where Shadow had spent days on end, bound. Sweeney thought there’d be more relief than he was feeling now that he’d pulled Shadow down, and saved him from his own misguided loyalty.

Instead, he was watching Shadow struggle, even still.

“I always thought she’d be it for me,” Shadow says softly. Sweeney knows now that it’s all over, that Shadow can finally grieve. He can grieve properly. Sweeney knew a thing or two about grieving, he’d done it enough times to know what it did to you. Grief hollowed you out, then rage often came next. Shadow didn’t show any rage. The fight had fled him, though he still felt obligated to finish something that he hadn’t even started.

“Shadow… Don’t let it consume you. She doesn’t need your grief or gratitude anymore. Save that for the living,” Sweeney pleads, and Shadow gives him a wry, half-smile.

“Save it for you?” Shadow asks, finally looking away from the window and toward Sweeney. The leprechaun feels very selfish, but also justified.

“Have I not earned it?” Sweeney speaks with a level of gentle seriousness he’d never thought himself capable of. He’s an asshole, through and through, he knows that is hardwired into his bloody DNA, but with Shadow, everything was quiet.

Sweeney reaches out and presses the warm coin into Shadow’s palm. He closes Shadow’s fingers around it and meets his gaze.

“Again? You sure you trust me with this?” Shadow looks down at his closed fist as Sweeney’s hands pull away. He flips the coin over his knuckles and stares at it, knowing that it’s what breathed life into Laura, that it’s what had taken Laura away again, and that Laura had been able to abide by the rules and given it freely.

“You gonna give it away again?” Sweeney asks, soft, his tone making him appear almost breakable. Shadow looks between the coin and Sweeney, then shakes his head. He knows this gift is. All the good fortune of a god, in the palm of his hand. This… This was Sweeney’s life, in his palm. If he chose to leave Sweeney, the man would perish.

“Who would I give it to. All I have left is right here,” he gestures to the hotel room, the small suitcase at the end of the bed, and at Sweeney.

“Not a bad haul, all things considered,” Sweeney manages a tight smile for Shadow. Shadow smiles back and leans in, closing the space between them. His lips part gently against Sweeney’s own, tongue so tentative and unsure when it passes Sweeney’s lips and slides against his own that Sweeney moans softly. Sweeney is mourning their passion of just months ago. Sweeney hasn’t smoked or drank in days, his mouth tastes clean and Shadow doesn’t know if he likes that. He longs for the acrid taste of stale cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey.

Sweeney’s hand is careful when it cups Shadow’s jaw and encourages him to lean into their kiss. It’s hesitant in how it slides around the back of Shadow’s neck and holds him there, prolonging the intimate contact. Shadow grunts quietly against Sweeney’s mouth and then breaks away. He searches Sweeney’s eyes for answers, but finds only more questions.

“I love you, you cunt,” Sweeney blurts, the words falling heavily between them. Shadow stares at him, gaze steady, but his eyes widening a fraction. He’d known. Of course he’d known. Sweeney had been there, to stand watch, to save him, to comfort him when Laura’s grave was empty, to hold him when he felt alone, to fuck him when he needed something real, something that made even the tiniest bit of sense.

Shadow’s isn’t surprised Sweeney loves him. He’s surprised that Sweeney has said it.

“I know,” Shadow whispers, at length. He runs his fingers through Sweeney’s hair and watches him crumple slightly when the sentiment isn’t immediately returned. Shadow captures Sweeney’s mouth again, chaste and insistent. His words are said directly against Sweeney’s lips. His words are given along with his loyal heart.

“I love you too, you fuck.”

Sweeney’s shoulders go lax with relief and he smiles against Shadow’s kiss, returning it with renewed vigor. He pulls away to meet Shadow’s gaze and nods.

“Then let’s finish this… And go home.”

“To the moors, like we planned,” Shadow grips Sweeney by the collar of his shirt. Sweeney laughs lowly.

“Like a couple o’ brooding, Bronte heroes.”


	14. services rendered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BOOK SPOILERS. But pretty AU, too.

Shadow looked up into the face of a man he knew but didn’t know. The heartiness of his laugh and the warmth of his smile felt uniquely old, and otherworldly. They shared a table and a round of beer. Odin. This was the real Odin. Shadow was still haunted by memories of everything that had transpired. He’d been behind the curtain, seen the gap between words, and watched people he’d come to care for, fall in battle. It was a battle he fought to stop. Nancy had taken him back to Florida to recover, and there, for the first time, Shadow had felt the weight of what he’d become.

He wasn’t strictly speaking, a man anymore. He was a folk hero, not to Americans, but to the gods that presided over America. Odin can see him. See the haunted look in his eyes. Shadow fiddles with Sweeney’s coin, rolling it over his knuckles, back and forth, wondering if Sweeney could feel him in the afterlife, if he could hear the way his heart hammered and ached. Love had a funny way of transcending death, Shadow had learned. Laura’s face was becoming a distant memory, but Sweeney was still fresh in his mind. Shadow had gone back to Lakeside after Sweeney had passed, and Sweeney had followed. Sweeney was there, like a warm coat around his shoulders, up until the bitter end.

Is it over now? Shadow wondered if that was why he couldn’t hear Sweeney anymore. They’d shared a space in Lakeside after Sweeney had fallen in the battle between old gods and new, and Sweeney had whispered that he was there to stay, until the bitter end. Shadow went to the klunker in Lakeside and unearthed a long buried truth, while Sweeney sank beneath the water with him and willed a rescue to come his way. Shadow saw the power of what he’d become not long after, plucking memories from a man haunted by his actions and gifting him love. Love was something Shadow had lost, but not forgotten. It wasn’t until after visiting Czernobog, that Shadow had decided, officially, yes, it was over. He’d given all he had to, back to the gods. And Sweeney dissipated, like dew on grass in the midmorning sun.

“You’re troubled,” Odin says, calling Shadow out of his reflections. Shadow shakes his head, because it’s not quite true. He’s not troubled, he’s lonely. He’s lonely because he’s no longer being haunted.

“This Wednesday… He took everything from you, even after the grave swallowed him,” Odin clarifies, “You lost all that made you a man. Your wife, your life, your love.”

That was the more accurate truth. Shadow was used to this by now. Gods reading him like an open book. Odin fixed him with the gaze of a concerned father. In a way, he was. A version of him was.

“You know. After everything I’ve done, everything I… saw and did. All I wanted was to start over,” Shadow says, soft and humble, “I guess that was too much to ask of the world.

Odin huffs and shrugs.

“Describe him,” Odin instructs, “As you knew him.”

Shadow doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to recall the memories of Sweeney that are still so fresh in his mind. He takes a deep pull from his beer, hoping it will be a balm on the open wound. It’s not. Odin waits patiently.

“He was violent and vulgar, but honest. He couldn’t be anything less than authentic. He was the only one who was. When I met him he told me the truth and he warned me. He warned me not to trust Wednesday, and he was right to,” Shadow starts slow, recalling the way Sweeney had stepped into his space. Do you know who he is? Who he really is? “He kissed like he fought. Just… all this unhinged passion. He looked at me like I was an idiot most of the time, but…”

Odin sits a little straighter in his chair and smiles at him, a knowing sort of smile, that makes Shadow uneasy. Shadow looks away, focusing on a red headed girl across the patio and thinks about Sweeney.

“He had freckles everywhere. I used to look at them, trace constellations on his skin, and he’d tell me to fuck off. He was softness when I wanted softness, he held me when I felt… empty. He was a fucking asshole, but he gave a shit. He saved me from my own misguided loyalty. I held Wednesday’s vigil and he pulled me down before it could kill me. Maybe it was because I saved him too. Over and over. He rescued me and gave me good fortune and I threw it away.”

Odin hums, stroking his beard and nods once, deeply, taking all this into account.

“You loved him deeply. A fierce, selfish love,” Odin muses. Shadow couldn’t dispute that. He’d been selfish with Sweeney, in an otherwise selfless line of stupid decisions. He’d taken everything he could from Sweeney, from physical comfort, to emotional stability. The ever-changing landscape of war had been so up and down, but Sweeney was Shadow’s constant.

“I liked to look at him in the sunlight. Early in the morning. He snored so fuckin’ loud, but it was still somehow so peaceful. I wanted that. I wanted to sleep that heavily,” Shadow admits, “I miss him. I miss his stupid face and his whiskey breath. I miss watching him roll cigarettes for the day and how he liked to keep one tucked behind his ear, just in case. I miss turning down his flask every time he offered it to me. I miss his arms.”

“You do not have to,” Odin finishes his beer in one quick swallow. Shadow looks back to god across from him and shakes his head.

“I’d rather keep my memories, thanks. Missing him is as close to having him as I’ve got,” Shadow looks down at Sweeney’s coin. He’d been tempted to use it, to give it back to Sweeney in the hopes that his corpse would rise up and Shadow could have a proper goodbye. Watching a bullet rip through Sweeney was as painful for Shadow as feeling a rope around his neck.

“I do not intend to take your memories,” Odin says calmly. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a stone. It’s easily recognizable. Shadow had dreamed of these stones, buried in the heads of thunderbirds. Odin crushes it in his fingers and blows it into the breeze

“Shadow Moon, you have my gratitude, but now, your debt is repaid,” Odin stands, leaving Shadow with the bill, but Shadow doesn’t mind. He sits there, in stunned silence, waiting for something to happen. Anything. He’s not sure what he should do. Sweeney’s body was nowhere near, it was left behind the curtain.

Shadow wasn’t sure if he’d see Sweeney again any time soon, but there was a glimmer of agonizing hope that he was out there now, somewhere. Alive.

Shadow paid the bill and rose from his seat. The walk back to the hostel was a long one. Shadow wasn’t paying attention to the route he was taking, too stunned to focus. His feet found their way there eventually and he wandered the halls, looking around at other travelers there, seeking shelter and a soft bed for a few nights before they’d move on. Shadow wasn’t sure if he’d have the strength to move on after his conversation with Odin. A version of Wednesday that had more warmth in his heart and his laugh than any man Shadow had ever met before.

Shadow’s bed was occupied when he returned to his room. A young woman sat there, scrolling through her Facebook feed on a tiny phone. Shadow was soured on technology now, and that alone was enough to give him the will to open his mouth. Words never had a chance to leave his lips. A gruff voice addresses him from behind.

“Leave the bint. You can bunk in with me.”

Shadow can’t trust his ears, but he doesn’t want to turn and look, for fear that he’ll see empty space behind him. Maybe hope was making him hear things. Shadow hears footsteps approach him from behind, and a hand slide up his back, coming to rest on his shoulder. That grip is so agonizingly familiar that Shadow closes his eyes and his throat tightens. He can feel himself ready to weep. The grip pulls him, turning him around. Hands are on his face, cupping him with callous fingers, the smell of nicotine strong on them.

“What’s the matter, cunt? Can’t bear to look at my ugly mug again?”

 

Shadow opens his eyes, and there, in the flesh, looking down at him with a mischievous smile, is Mad fucking Sweeney. Shadow’s breath catches in his throat. His hands shake as he tentatively reaches up, pressing both palms against the chest he’d seen ripped to ribbons just a few months ago. He runs his fingers along Sweeney’s shirt, pulling at buttons to open it and look. Sweeney is whole. He’s not a shambling reminder of death, like Laura had been. He’s warm and alive and here.

“You’re here.”

“In the very handsome flesh.”

Shadow shakes his head, barely able to believe what he’s seeing, but he has to. He can’t dispute what he can touch. He pushes up on his toes and kisses Sweeney’s lips. They’re warm and pliant and familiar. Sweeny’s hair is soft beneath Shadow’s touch as he runs his fingers through it. He’s laughing against Shadow’s mouth like the shock is the greatest joke he’s ever heard. He kisses Shadow’s cheeks and forehead, as Shadow fists his fingers into Sweeney’s shirt.

“You’re really here,” Shadow’s words are breathless and Sweeney is careful in how he smooths his hands over Shadow’s shirt. He pushes lightly, putting the smallest amount of space between them so they can look at one another properly.

“Aye,” Sweeney smirks, “You better be grateful, because I was enjoying myself. Big breasted women and piles of money. The afterlife is not such a bad gig after all.”

Shadow’s expression pulls into a frown and Sweeney shakes his head adamantly, taking Shadow’s face in his hands, running his thumbs over Shadow’s cheeks.

“No no no. Don’t do that. I’m kidding, Shadow. I’m only kidding,” Sweeney laughs at Shadow’s concern and presses a kiss to his lips, “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

Shadow barks a pained laugh. There’s relief washing over him in waves as Sweeney takes him by the hand and gives it a tug. Shadow follows Sweeney from the room, all thoughts of the woman who had taken his bed fleeing his mind. Sweeney leads him to another room in the hostel, to a large futon on the floor, where a familiar pair of suitcases sit idly by. Shadow’s and Sweeney’s.

“I fucking cried for you,” Shadow growls, but he’s not angry at Sweeney. He’s angry at himself. “I should have never pulled you onto that field with me.”

“No harm done, Shadow. I’m here now,” Sweeney draws Shadow down and into the bed where they tangle together in familiar ways, legs and arms and groping hands. Sweeney is solid. Shadow can feel him properly for the first time in months, and it’s so good he never wants to fully separate ever again.

“Where’d you go?” Shadow asks, voice cracking while Shadow strokes his fingers over the planes of Sweeney’s face and down his neck. “I couldn’t hear you anymore. I couldn’t feel you. Where the hell did you go?”

“I went home,” Sweeney says quietly. “I wandered the moors and haunted the old castles of my people. Watched my kind as they are now. Not a life I’d want for myself. Hiding in the dark corners, fighting over scraps of faith and adoration. There’s no place left for leprechauns and pixies anymore in this world.”

Shadow tightened his grip on Sweeney.

“I missed you,” Shadow says.

“I know. I felt it. I just wanted to do you the courtesy your wife couldn’t seem to. I wanted to let you grieve,” Sweeney whispers against Shadow’s forehead. Shadow tucks his face into Sweeney’s shirt and sighs.

“You won’t leave again,” he says, firm and unyielding in his conviction.

“Why would I? No place I’d rather be, Shadow Moon, than bein’ the fecker that you go to bed with every night, and wake to every mornin’. I’d rather be a man with you, than a god to none, any day.”

Shadow closes his eyes and breathes Sweeney in.

“Where do we go from here?” he asks. Sweeney takes a deep breath and exhales a sigh through his nose.

“Well… I imagine… wherever we bloody want.”

And that sounded pretty damn good to Shadow.


	15. once more with feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something a little NSFW from Sweeney's POV. I don't often write characters from the first person but this was fun to fill.

I can’t stand him. No really, I promise you, I can’t. His brilliant smile and stupid tall, dark, and handsome routine. Brooding brown eyes-- fuck. And don’t get me started on how he looks at me. Like I’m the arse! I’ve only ever been honest with him, but that’s not what he wants. He wants pretty lies and something close to normal, which, far be it for me to stand in the way of his stupid dreams.

“What?” he asks me, incredulous, of course, because I’m starin’ at him. I can’t help myself. He’s him. Which is vague, I understand, very vague, but Shadow isn’t the type you can easily define. He’s a proper fuck up, but loyal, and good. Not too many people in this godforsaken world can be called good. Shadow’s good.

“What’dyeh mean, what?” I can’t be bothered with explaining myself. It should be obvious by now. Maybe he’s just that thick. I look him over. He’s a sight to behold. I’m happy to lounge comfortably, naked as the day I was born, and watch him towel off. Always a disappointment, really, that he always showers so soon after. I deserve to smell myself on him, after all. But noooo-- he’s gotta be a prick about this.

“You’re staring at me.” Good job, cunt. You pointed out the appallingly obvious. I’m not about to dispute the truth. Not really my style. Besides, there’s lots to stare at.

“Problem?” I shouldn’t push his buttons, but he’s not an easy one to rile. It’s always tempting. Always. That look he gets in his eyes, all fire and ferocity, gets my blood flowing. He’s not rising to the occasion tonight. Blowing me off, I see. Waving his hand dismissively. And going to his suitcase. “Don’t do that.”

Shadow turns those dark eyes on me. Whenever I’m under that gaze, I can barely move. I think he knows the effect it has on me. Still, if he’s lookin’ at me, he can’t go into his suitcase and get dressed. No. I want him like this a bit longer, dripping and… ah fuck, I can feel myself already getting hot beneath the collar. Like goddamned teenager.

“We have to meet Wednesday.” Oh Shadow, I know. I fuckin’ know. I just don’t care. Which, I’m sure my distaste reads plain as day on my face. I don’t want to meet Wednesday, and, to be fair, I don’t have to either. I will, if only to stay by his side. Can’t go too far, he might get himself killed. He’s no fuckin’ clue what he’s gotten himself into, and that he’s out of his depth. I’m starting to think that maybe… Just maybe, he trusts me. I’ve never given him reason not to.

“Come back to bed for a bit,” I’m not begging, but it’s damn close to it. The needy mess he’s made of me is sickening but satisfying. I’ve not felt this way in too long. No-- I take that back. I’ve not felt this way, ever. I’ve had my fair share of lovers over the years, but Shadow is different. He’s special. Of course he’s fuckin’ special. Why else would Wednesday want him? Knowing that makes my bloody stomach twist up in knots. He’s special somehow and I can taste it in his kiss.

“If I get back in that bed, neither of us will leave on time.”

I extend a hand to Shadow. I fix him with a look that I’m hoping shows how very little I give a pixie’s arse about that. Make him wait. Make the war wait. Make the whole world wait, I don’t care. I just want you. I want you with me. I want to touch you and be inside you and kiss you. Fuck Wednesday, no, don’t fuck Wednesday-- Fuck me. Shadow’s lookin’ at me like I’m a moron. And I am. I’m a moron for indulging this. I’m a moron for letting myself fall ass over tea kettle for this swarthy skinned bastard.

“Don’t make me beg, Shadow.” I’m not above begging. I’ve done it plenty of times. I did it just moments before Shadow slid off my cock and got in the shower. I begged him to never stop. He didn’t listen, of course. A disappointment, but also an opportunity to do it again.

“Sweeney.” He says my name like a warning. I love the way he can make my name sound that damn good. Every which way he says it curls up inside me, makes itself at home. Whether he’s barking it in anger, or moaning it while I rail him into next century, doesn’t matter. I love hearing my name on those perfect lips.

Lips I’d love to just stick my--

“Sweeney!” Awe fuck, he’s laughing. He knows how weak for him I am. Fuck him. I can’t stand him. I can’t stand what he’s turned me into. I’m a filthy fuckin’ mess for his stupid arse. Still, I’m getting my way. He can see how hard I am for him, and I know that’s a sight he can’t turn away from. He’s coming over, he’s going to kiss me, and suck my cock, if only to satiate me long enough to get out of bed and get dressed. Maybe I’ll choke him with it a little… Just to see him struggle with how much he likes that.

“You’re a saint, Shadow Moon.” My words have an effect. He’s got that stupid, brilliant smile on his face. I’ve just sent stimulus straight to his ego. Good. He could use a bit of ego. Maybe then he won’t be such a pushover for Wednes--

“Ahh-- Ahah. Ahh… fuck you, Shadow.” His mouth feels good. I can’t be more descriptive than that, his tongue has a way of… making my brain just melt into goo. He’s attentive and still learning. I don’t mind the teeth, he’s clumsy but earnest.

We’re going to be late.

Fine by me.


	16. i found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is mostly AU but if you don’t know about Lakeside, this might be considered book spoilers. Very very minor, inconsequential book spoilers. This wound up being a direct continuation of chapter two, hearth and home.

Shadow woke to a cool space beside him where Sweeney had been. He could still smell the other man lingering on the sheets. It was odd, but comfortable. He rolled over and inhaled. Cigarette smoke and Polo Sport. The night before had been simple. Two men sharing a meal, sharing a space, and sharing a bed. Still, that simplicity left a dull ache in the pit of Shadow’s stomach now that Sweeney wasn’t at his side. He missed that presence already. For too long he’d been trying to let Laura fade in the hopes that it would help him feel less alone, but it wasn’t until last night that he’d truly been able to put distance between himself and those memories.

Slowly, Shadow rose and descended the small staircase to his kitchen. The smell of coffee and cigarettes hit his nose. There was half a pot sitting in the maker. There was a small plastic ashtray and an empty mug on the table. Shadow furrowed his brows at the sight. He didn’t own an ashtray last night. Sweeney had used a mug.

Shadow glanced at the clock and took stock of the time. He’d slept in. That was something new as well. He was often unable to find enough peace to sleep, but he’d slept for ten hours last night. He’d laid in bed until eleven. Shadow carefully poured himself a mug of coffee and went to the fridge for a splash of milk. With his back to the door, he was startled by the sound of it opening. He turned quickly, jug in hand, prepared to turn it into a projectile, but there stood Sweeney. He was properly bundled up in a leather jacket and a pair of boots. Both were new and suited him better for this weather. A gust of wind brought snow through the door.

Sweeney kicked the door shut behind himself and offered Shadow an amused half smirk as he looked him up and down.

“Startled yeh, did I? And here I thought we had a moment last night,” Sweeney jabbed, a low rumbling laugh in his throat. Shadow was able to better absorb what he was seeing after the shock of seeing Sweeney wore off. He had paper bags in his arms. “I borrowed your car. Storm’s a’comin’.”

Shadow’s brows furrowed into deep thought while Sweeney set the bags down and began unloading them. Eggs, sausages, tomatoes, flour, bacon, other various cuts of meat, steel cut oats, cheeses, grapes, butter…

A bottle of Jameson.

“You… went grocery shopping?” Shadow asked, perplexed as he finally shook out of his confused stupor enough to go pour milk into his coffee. Sweeney moved fluidly behind him to put things away. It was as if he’d always lived here, as if this space belonged as much to him as it did to Shadow. As Shadow sipped his coffee, he decided he didn’t much mind that.

Sweeney didn’t stop at unloading the shopping, however. He fixed Shadow with a crooked grin and lit a cigarette he’d rolled early that morning. Shadow passed him the ashtray and Sweeney took a deep lungful of smoke. As he exhaled he spoke.

“You hungry? This weather calls for a proper Irish breakfast,” Sweeney said, catching Shadow by surprise. Shadow had cooked for Sweeney last night, and now Sweeney was offering to cook for him in turn. It was all so normal and domestic, Shadow felt oddly at peace for the first time in months. They were going to be snowed in for a few days because of the oncoming storm, so Shadow would take the peace while he could. He licked his lips and then sipped his coffee with a shrug.

“Alright, Sweeney.”

Sweeney’s cooking filled the apartment with smells of smoked meats and roasted tomatoes. It was unfamiliar but comforting. Shadow indulged in the meal, finding that it tasted better than anything he’d had in a very long time. Sweeney let Shadow clean up after the fact and they retreated to the living room. The television didn’t work, it remained unplugged because of Shadow’s last experience with television.

“I Love Lucy offered to show me her tits,” Shadow explained, as if it were something as normal as discussing the weather. He’d gone a bit numb to all of this by now. It felt good to not have to pretend to be anything other than what he was for a while. The people of Lakeside were kind souls and Shadow enjoyed their stepford-like qualities.

But it wasn’t as good as honesty.

“Were they nice? Bet they were perky,” Sweeney mused around his second mug of coffee. Shadow huffed a laugh and shook his head. Perhaps he should have let her show him. He’d been quick to end that interaction, fearful of what might happen to him if he lingered too long.

“I dunno if they were. I didn’t see them. I was in the middle of a grocery store at the time,” Shadow explained as he took a seat beside Sweeney on the couch. Sweeney’s arm extended along the back of it, behind Shadow’s shoulders, and Shadow naturally gravitated toward Sweeney as a result. His body pressed against Sweeney’s side and he wondered what was happening here, between the two of them. Sure they’d had their nights in cheap motel rooms, but this was decidedly different. It was warm and comfortable and it felt… Right. 

Sweeney didn’t seem to be thinking too hard on this growth between them. It wasn’t cancerous or dark, it was just something worth having. Shadow wondered if Sweeney had ever even considered them becoming something more.

“Awe fuck, lad. What a wasted opportunity,” Sweeney laughed, nudging Shadow’s shoulder with the heel of his hand. Shadow turned somewhat, twisting on the couch to look at Sweeney properly. He studied the man’s profile and then leaned over. Sweeney turned his face toward him, feeling that gravitational pull of a kiss coming. Their lips met and Sweeney hummed in appreciation. Their lips parted but Shadow didn’t lean out of Sweeney’s space. Sweeney peered down the bridge of his nose at Shadow, nothing short of smug.

“Ah. Missed me, then?” Sweeney was smug, but Shadow wouldn’t begrudge him that. It certainly wasn’t incorrect. Shadow had missed Sweeney a great deal and hadn’t realized how much until that flood of warmth began to fill him after their lips touched. It was a kind of good feeling that Shadow remembered from years ago. He remembered feeling it in the whisper of sheets in the early morning, with Laura still mostly asleep calling him Puppy.

Except there wasn’t a toxic barrier between himself and Sweeney. Sweeney wasn’t numb, wasn’t taking Shadow’s affection for granted. He felt it all very vividly and Shadow knew that in the way Sweeney looked at him, the way he touched his face, grabbed his chin, and kissed him back.

The couch became a place to recline into a horizontal position, Shadow laid across Sweeney’s body so he could tuck his face against his neck and leave a soft purpling mark of his affection behind. Sweeney’s long legs hung over the arm of the sofa, but he didn’t care. He wanted to stay put and enjoy this for what it was, and what it was worth.

They had a lunch of leftover chili and shared a few glasses of Jameson. They had nowhere to go and nowhere to be, so there was no harm in drinking at three in the afternoon. They listened to music together, and Sweeney regaled Shadow with stories of his glory days, when his luck was better, and his life was simple.

Shadow and Sweeney partnered to make dinner, and when Shadow was least expecting it, Sweeney surprised him with a sharp smack to the backside, leaving Shadow stinging, in a good way. Shadow claimed he was determined to pay the strike back in kind, and warned Sweeney it was coming, but he’d never know when. Shadow wouldn’t follow through, but the threat made Sweeney throw his head back in laughter.

“We’ll see, shall we?” Sweeney challenged. Shadow only laughed, and it felt so damn good to laugh.

After dinner, they shared a couple more drinks, Shadow even gave Sweeney a glimpse into his own past, telling him about his mother, and how she’d passed. Sweeney frowned, his sympathy was something of a miracle, considering he’d never seemed the sympathetic type.

“Cancer… That’s a right nasty business, Shadow. I’m sorry.”

Shadow took Sweeney to bed by the front of his shirt and they made a mess of each other. Shadow was more familiar with the physical intimacy they shared, than he was with anything else that had been brewing between them. The storm raged on outside, but within the walls of Shadow’s modest apartment, they were warm.

They were warm, and they were together. That’s what got Shadow through the harshness of reality.

Three days of this, carefully constructed interaction. It was as if they were playing house. The snow kept them inside, but after a while it died down. Still, they felt no urge to leave the apartment. They stayed in a few days after the storm had passed. Piles of snow on the ground were as good an excuse as any, to not shatter whatever this domestic dreamlife was that they now had.

Sweeney would read sometimes, aloud around a cigarette. After a week of silence from Shadow, neighbors began popping in when there was enough sun in the sky to make the drifts they had to traverse even the slightest bit tolerable. They came just to check up on the kind young man “Mike” that Shadow had become. None seemed too perturbed by the ginger giant hanging around with Shadow. And Sweeney made a point to put his arm around Shadow, or whisper in his ear in front of all these small handfuls of strangers. The locals were a kind bunch, concerned with community, so it pleased many of them to see Shadow looking happy.

They brought baskets of baked goods, jarred fruits from the summer, jams, jellies, pickles, and bottles of cognac and wine. They showed their welcome and caring through this almost unbelievable level of neighborly charm. Sweeney wasn’t sure he fully understood them. He wasn’t sure he understood any of what he saw. What he did notice, were the looks of knowing mirth that they all cast Shadow’s way.

“They all seem so surprised with you,” Sweeney said, picking at a piece of rhubarb pie that had been brought to them. Shadow shrugged, stealing Sweeney’s fork from his hand to take a bite, himself. Sweeney didn’t bat an eyelash and accepted the fork back while Shadow contemplated this.

“Yeah well… When I got here I was pretty lost. I guess…” he trailed off, a long, pregnant pause following while Shadow stared pointedly at the ceiling rather than looking at Sweeney. Sweeney waited, chewing thoughtfully with an arched brow in Shadow’s direction. 

“I guess I don’t feel lost anymore,” Shadow finished, looking toward Sweeney with a small, melancholy smile. Sweeney’s expression faded from curious, to concerned. There was a strange silence settling over them, one that Sweeney was afraid to break, but he had to.

“Sometimes you’ve got to get lost to find what you need,” Sweeney said calmly, “Or in my case, you have to lose something.”

Shadow’s throat felt a bit tight. They did need this. Shadow needed this. He needed something that wasn’t tainted by Wednesday, or gods, or death, or chaos. He needed to feel like– he wanted to kick himself for even thinking it, but… He needed to feel like a husband again. To feel purpose and acceptance in ways he hadn’t, even when he’d been married.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Mad Sweeney,” Shadow warned, playful as he stooped down, and gave Sweeney a fleeting, but honest kiss.


	17. fortunes' favor

Shadow takes Sweeney’s hand as they lay side by side in the motel bed. The sheets are tangled around them and the smoke of Sweeney’s cigarette hangs in the air, curling upward from his lips. It’s a hazy morning, gray light pours through the gap in the heavy curtains and casts a beam of light across the bed. Sweeney is barely awake, half hard beneath the tan sheets, and his arm is around Shadow. Shadow idly touches the ring adoring Sweeney’s finger, and then his callouses. Sweeney had the hands of a worker, though Shadow had never seen him do much but fight. Tough callous along his palm from holding a tool.

“What’s it from?” Shadow asks softly, and Sweeney sighs through his nose, gaze growing distant. He would have rathered they indulge in a little early morning sex, but Shadow was hard for him to deny anything. He had grown soft and sweet on Shadow. He wanted to please him, make him happy, and sometimes that meant physical distractions and carnal comforts, other times it meant conversation.

“Sword,” Sweeney grunts, closing his fist. Shadow furrows his brows, a recent memory crossing his mind. He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel, remembering the weight of Wednesday’s sword in his hands. He twitches uncomfortably.

“Didn’t know leprechauns fought in battles of any kind,” Shadow points out, and Sweeney tenses briefly. He clears his throat and presses a kiss to Shadow’s forehead.

“When you’re lucky, battle comes easy,” Sweeney says, “But my luck’s run off with your undead lady love.”

Shadow frowns, brows knitting as he thinks about Laura. The ashy taste of her lips was so different than tasting smoke on Sweeney’s warm tongue. She was alive because of that coin. And Sweeney stepped closer to death each day he didn’t have it. His luck was piss poor, and he’d narrowly escaped accidents that Shadow wished he’d been able to rescue the man from. Sweeney was hurting. There was something deeper there, too. A confession of a bloody past. Shadow wasn’t surprised, but it gave him a glimpse into Sweeney’s life.

Sweeney had been, up to this point, honest, but also able to dodge the meat of his own story, while Shadow had given Sweeney almost everything. Shadow had come to terms with the way they gave to one another. Shadow gave himself, his honesty, and his heart. Sweeney gave his body, his passion, and his mind. It wasn’t really a relationship. No. Shadow wouldn’t call it that. Just a connection. A way to feel comfort in a time of so much pain and chaos.

“He’ll be takin’ you to Lakeside soon, t’ hide you away,” Sweeney says softly, trying to change the subject, erase the mention of Laura entirely. Shadow’s distaste for the idea of being hidden away anywhere was evident in the grumbling noise he made. Shadow looked at Sweeney with a small frown and then leaned over the side of the bed, twisting and nearly tumbling out, if not for the sudden strong arm around his waist.

“Th’ hell are you after, y’fucker,” Sweeney scolds, his chest pressing to Shadow’s back as he peers over the edge of the bed to watch Shadow fish around in the pocket of his jeans.

“Shut up, pull me back up,” Shadow shoots back, having found what he was looking for. Sweeney makes manhandling Shadow seem so easy. Shadow’s never felt exactly delicate in Sweeney’s grasp, but it’s something close to it. Cradled, protected even, despite Sweeney’s inability to even protect himself most of the time.

Shadow props his back against the headboard and closes his eyes for a moment, squeezing the thing he’d retrieved, tightly in his hand. He’d been warned, but Shadow hadn’t gotten anywhere worth being by obeying all the rules. He takes Sweeney’s hand again and presses the chilly coin into Sweeney’s palm.

“You gave me the sun, and I threw it away. I’ve had the moon this whole time, but I think you need it more than I do,” Shadow says. He wasn’t sure what properties this coin had, or if he really believed in them, but when he thought about Sweeney’s coin and all it had done. It was all so very possible. He had to try.

“Shadow, you can’t give me this--”

“Something has to keep you safe while I’m in Lakeside,” Shadow interrupts, “I sure as shit can’t come to your rescue whenever you’re in a bad spot. But… Maybe this will help.”

Sweeney stares at Shadow, wide eyed and confused for a few moments, and then softens slightly. Shadow leans up and closes the space between them. He kisses Sweeney with firmness and surety. He speaks against Sweeney’s lips, as if willing the sentiment he says into existence with his tone alone.

“It will help. I believe.”

Sweeney cups Shadows face and kisses him back, the edge of the coin pressing into Shadow’s jaw as he holds him there. It would work. Belief was the best luck Shadow could offer anyone, but most importantly, it was the best luck he could give to Mad Sweeney.


	18. distaste

“Ugh--” Wednesday’s disgust is overt and offensive, Shadow can barely begin to comprehend where the grunt was coming from, considering how quickly Wednesday seemed to change gears or take in new information. He waits, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, while Sweeney stretches across the backseat legs sprawled, back against the door.

“I can smell him all over you,” Wednesday says to Shadow, as if Sweeney wasn’t in the car with them, “It’s disgusting. What did you do? Bathe with his cock?”

Shadow’s fingers tighten against the wheel as he drives, and he can’t even bring himself to muster a response. What the hell did it matter who he fucked? Wednesday was a particular kind of guy, Shadow had noticed, but this seemed a bit extreme.

“Leave it, boss,” Sweeney growls in warning. Wednesday snorts in contempt and folds his arms across his chest. The moment has Shadow’s skin crawling. He’s not sure why Wednesday is so against their developing closeness. It certainly wouldn’t be jealousy, so it must have been business. Two men working for him, now growing to like each other, in ways that were carnal and lustful. Sweeney’s lips against the shell of his ear from the back seat whisper something in a language Shadow doesn’t understand, but somehow, the point gets across.

Sweeney doesn’t care if Wednesday doesn’t like it. In fact, he’s practically getting off on that very idea. Wednesday reaches back and snatches Sweeney by his hair.

“No,” he speaks like he’s scolding a dog who’d pissed on his rug. It’s demeaning and makes Shadow’s knuckles whiten with their grip on the steering wheel. What the hell was his problem?

Shadow slams on the breaks jostling everyone in the car. They’re in the middle of nowhere on a strip of dirt road, and Shadow has nowhere to storm off to, no way of escaping the situation so he tackles it head on. He looks at Wednesday with fury in his eyes.

“What the fuck’s your problem? I took you for a lot of things but a homophobe wasn’t one of them,” Shadow snaps, and Wednesday widens his eyes at Shadow, his own anger burning so fiercely, Shadow can practically feel it filling up the car with charged energy.

“You can have any dick up your backside you want, but his is one you shouldn’t be trifling with. You have no idea where it’s been,” it’s said in a way that’s meant to lead Shadow away from what’s really bothering Wednesday, and Shadow presses him again, this time more insistently.

“We have a compact, remember? With the contingency that the moment you start to piss me off, we’re done. You wanna be done? We can be done right fuckin’ now,” Shadow snaps. He can feel Sweeney watching him, Wednesday’s hand still fisted in his hair. The shock Sweeney is feeling at Shadow taking up for him, and for whatever this was between them, was evident in the way he stayed utterly silent for once.

“Don’t make threats you can’t afford to follow through on, Shadow, it’s not good for your health and it’ll be even worse for his,” Wednesday yanks Sweeney’s hair again, and then shoves him back into the back seat. Sweeney rubs his head and clears his throat.

“Drive, Shadow. Pay him no mind. He needs you more than you need him. Remember what I told you the night we met,” Sweeney’s words are a hiss, and the air around them crackles as a result. Shadow realizes that darkness is swallowing up the sky. Stormy clouds are gathering and fat, angry raindrops are hurtling downward. The car rattles in the sudden storm.

“Who I choose to fuck has nothing to do with how well I can do my job, so you need to back off. Got it? Back. Off.” Shadow doesn’t lift his foot off the brake. He doesn’t look at Wednesday, but rather out at the sky. It’s a reflection of the mood inside the car. Forceful and furious.

“I’m looking out for you Shadow, which is more than you can say for yourself or anyone else. You’ll regret this,” Wednesday is making a promise. Shadow swallows a knot in his throat and starts to accelerate again.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Shadow growls. Wednesday scoffs a laugh and looks back at Sweeney through the reflection of the rearview mirror. They exchange a knowing look, and there’s a danger in Wednesday’s gaze that makes Sweeney break into a cold sweat. Wednesday’s words sound like they’re meant for Shadow, but they’re not. Sweeney knows they’re meant for him. A warning. A very stern one.

“For your sake, I certainly hope not.”


End file.
